


The Kids Aren't All Right

by PorcelainAlice



Series: Isle!Ben AU [1]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Isle Ben, Beast!Ben, Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Codependency, Death games, Dysfunctional Family, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, F/M, Gang Violence, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Gray Morality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Magic and Science, Mutilation, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, The Isle Of The Lost is a goddamn nightmare, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mentions of childhood sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcelainAlice/pseuds/PorcelainAlice
Summary: Blessed be the Wicked; we were all born innocent.Or, an AU where Ben grows up on the isle of the lost, and the world is both better and worse for it.





	1. Dog Days

**Present Day**

 

 

The weather on the Isle Of The Lost is always crap. Winters are brutal and merciless, spring and fall are so cold and wet they leave the whole island drenched for days at a time, and summers spike to dangerously high temperatures even with the perpetual storm clouds overhead, leaving everything dark and muggy and disgusting.

Ben tried to ask once, when he was younger, if that was on purpose. Had his father intentionally requested for everything inside the barrier, including the weather, to be as terrible as possible? Was that part of the villains’ punishment?

… Did he regret it?

That line of questioning had gotten Ben punched in the face hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor. Then his dad had stared at his own hand in silence for a long moment before he slowly broke down crying, which had shocked Ben out of his own stupor and he’d cried, too. When his mom walked in a moment later and saw the two of them holding each other on the floor and sobbing out apologies, Ben’s face slick with the blood still dripping from his nose, she’d, of course, asked what happened, and they told her, and then _she_ cried, and…

Ben doesn't ask his dad questions about the isle, anymore.

He’s perched on the roof of one of the shoddy apartment buildings that serve as housing in the D-list district, shirtless and looking for all the world like he’s paying more attention to the bottle of bootleg rum in his hand than to his environment. On the street below him, a topless prostitute is fanning herself with a folded up poster, trying to look alluring while the heat has her practically melting into the sidewalk. She hasn't noticed him.

There’s a handful of other people scurrying about, all in various states of undress, braving the heat to run whatever errands they have to run. None of them have noticed him, either. Nobody ever looks up.

Still, on the off chance somebody does see him, Ben keeps his body language relaxed, his head tilted back, his breathing slow and even. The flush of heat on his cheeks and his slight swaying make him look for all the world like he’s drunk enough to fall off the roof and break his own neck, completely harmless. Ben drinks his watered-down booze.

The window to the apartment directly below him doesn’t have any glass on it; it’s just a big gaping hole in the side of the building, only partially covered by dirty, tattered curtains. If he strains his ears he can pick up noises from inside, as the occupants move around and speak in low voices to each other.

Ben’s Arabic is pretty good, but the people talking are quiet enough that he still only catches maybe every third word. Still, between their calm tones and pointless conversation, it’s enough to let him know that nobody in the apartment has noticed anything is wrong yet. If he’s lucky they won’t notice at all, and Ben will spend the next fifteen minutes or so sitting alone on the roof, pretending to be some random drunk henchman kid checking out the hooker.

Ben ran out of luck years ago. He keeps a hand on the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh, and drinks his rum, and waits.

It’s maybe eight, nine minutes later that there’s a sudden hush through the apartment. By the time the shouting starts, Ben has tossed the bottle aside and twisted himself off the roof, fingers digging into rough, decaying shingles, using the momentum to carry him through the open window hole. He doesn’t have time to scope the situation. He draws his knife while he still has surprise on his side and lashes out for the nearest throat.

None of Abiz Mal’s thugs have any legitimate children, which is fortunate, since Ben gets squeamish killing kids his age or younger. The adults, though, he’s grown mostly desensitized to, and he cuts another one down as fast as he can. Skin splits like butter under his knife. A spray of hot blood follows. Ben clenches his jaw against the sudden ache in his teeth. 

There are thirteen men in the room, but only twelve of them are a threat, since all Abiz Mal is doing is screaming for his henchmen to stop Jay. With the two Ben just cut bleeding out on the floor, and the one Jay must have got before Ben swooped in, that leaves nine.

Those are still not great odds, but Jay is holding his own well enough. The heavy bag of stolen goods slung over his shoulder slows him down, but he’s still faster than the thugs, and now that Ben is here their attention is divided. Jay cuts down the nearest two when they turn to see who just came in out of nowhere, then ducks to stab a third in the leg. He uses the man’s shoulder as a springboard when he collapses to his knees, vaulting over the crowd in a clumsy roll, careful of the low ceiling.

Ben blocks an oncoming sword, kicking the man’s knee as hard as he can, bending it backwards, then he lashes out with his knife and cuts a long, deep slice into someone’s arm. Takes a step back, and then another to keep his balance when an incoming sword makes him jerk to the side, leaving him awkward and unsteady on his feet. Someone grunts and collapses a little to Ben’s right, and someone else starts screaming in Arabic loud enough to drown out Abiz Mal’s pointless shrieking. Ben cuts blindly and gives more ground.

Somehow over the clamor Ben hears Jay whistle, high and piercing, and he falls back and follows on blind instinct, scrambling back out onto the roof as quickly as he can.

Abiz Mal is still screaming, and his goons come piling out after them like a zombie apocalypse, but Jay is the one who taught Ben how to get around the isle, and the odds of these old, bulky has-beens being able to keep up are slim enough that Ben risks the two seconds it takes to sheath his knife before he sprints after Jay, the two of them leaping over rooftops.

It takes them nearly an hour to get to the Thieve’s Bazaar at full speed, and neither are willing to stop or slow down until they get there. It isn’t exactly the safest place to rest, especially given what exactly it is they just stole, but they lost Abiz Mal’s thugs twenty minutes ago and nobody else has any reason to suspect that what they’re carrying is all that important. The center of the island is always bustling with activity, even when it’s swelteringly hot out. If someone is still following them, they’ll probably get lost in the crowd.

With that in mind, Jay and Ben duck into a nearby alley, slumping against opposite walls and heaving for breath. Jay’s fingers twitch toward the bag like he wants to double check on it, then go still. Every isle kid knows that the quickest way to get your stuff stolen is to draw attention to it. Instead he turns to Ben, looking him over with a raised eyebrow.

Jay looks like an absolute nightmare, shirtless and sweaty and bloody, and Ben assumes he doesn’t look much better. But he and Jay hit hard and fast. Ben doesn’t have a scratch on him, and none of the blood is his. He gives a tired, wordless thumbs up, then raises his eyebrow in turn. Jay responds with a one-armed shrug. He has a nasty-looking cut on his shoulder, curling over his collarbone, but it doesn’t look life threatening, so Ben leaves it be for now. With nothing else to say, they both go still again, waiting for their breathing to return to normal.

“Are we bad?” Ben asks, several long minutes later, wincing at the pull of drying sweat and blood on his bare skin. Jay casts a glance at the marketplace, then smirks back at him.

“Bad to the bone. Let’s blow.”

People hurry to get out of their way as the two walk the rest of the distance to the De Vil manor. Ben can’t blame them; looking like he does, he would probably get out of his way, too. He also isn’t complaining about it. The heat and humidity have settled over the isle like a blanket, and the last thing he wants is to be rubbing shoulders with strangers, trading smears of sweat and whatever other grime people are covered in. The empty streets make for a much more comfortable journey, he and Jay sauntering along side-by-side, an arm’s distance between them to avoid sharing body heat. When they reach Hell Hall they duck around to the back, avoiding the windows, and pick their way through the overgrown yard to the single oak tree standing right on the property line.

The hatch to Carlos’s treehouse is locked, of course, but a coded knock and another one of Jay’s sharp whistles has the door being pulled open for them. Ben hauls himself up gratefully, groaning in relief at the cooler air and chance to actually sit and rest. He doesn't offer a wave or a greeting until he’s on the other side of the small room, easing himself down onto one of the rusted metal folding chairs by the workbench while Carlos secures the hatch again.

Carlos gives them both a wincing look once he’s slid the bolts and locks back into place. Ben can practically hear Cruella in her son’s head, shrieking about how dirty he and Jay are. For once he almost agrees with the old hag, but with an effort Carlos swallows down whatever he wants to say, visibly shifting gears from the potential mess to the potential injuries.

“We’re fine,” Jay says, before Carlos can ask. He’s sitting in the corner directly in front of Carlos’s homemade air conditioner, hogging the cool breeze and already digging through the bag to pick out what he’ll give to Jafar. With a huff, he turns the sack upside down instead, letting it’s contents spill out over the floor, making it easier to sort and organize.

The coins are dirty and bent, the silver tarnished, the jewelry mostly broken or dull, but the gold is real and the gems are authentic. For a second Ben just stares. He could buy a hundred meals. He could get medical supplies off the Shadow Man or Gothel. He could buy half the books on the isle to give to his mother with just a handful of those coins.

“Gotta pry the gems out of their holders,” Jay is saying, polishing a ruby pendant on his pants and holding it up to admire the shine. “I’m taking them all as my cut.”

Carlos is nodding, picking out all the silver and weighing it in his hands, probably calculating how much wire he’ll get when he melts it down.  “I want any sapphires, though. Diamonds too, if there are any.”

Jay opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos cuts him off. “I’ll pay you back, whatever price you name. It’s important, Jay.”

Jay’s face pinches tight, his jaw clenching, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything. Neither does anyone else. There isn't exactly tension in the air, but this is… A  lot to ask for. Maybe more than Jay can give.

But after another minute he sighs, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. “Fine. We’ll talk payment later. Ben,” Jay shifts gears, turning to look at him, “What’s your cut?”

… Hm. Ben eats well enough, especially since joining Mal’s gang. Freddie Facilier owes him favors that he could cash in on for medicine and such. There are plenty of other ways to obtain books.

“Make it worthwhile,” He says, and doesn’t elaborate. They all know exactly what he’s talking about.

Carlos stares at him for a long moment, looking both determined and a little bit afraid, though if he’s more scared of Ben’s show of trust or the implied IOU is unclear. Ben only smiles at him, trying to be encouraging.

Their plan is a crazy one, but if anyone can pull it off, it’ll be the mad inventor. Ben knows his open affection and loyalty can make the others feel uncomfortable sometimes, so he doesn't voice that thought, but it's important to him that Carlos knows Ben has his back. Finally, after a strange sort of staring contest, Carlos swallows. His voice is thick when he says, “I’ll try.”

Before Ben can say anything in response, Jay rolls up onto his feet, breaking the tension with a ruffle of Carlos’s hair. He has most of the gold coins in his pockets, but the majority of the jewelry he plans on keeping are in a neat pile in the corner of the room, waiting to be pried apart later. “We need showers,” He announces, unnecessarily, and offers Ben a hand up. It's all a pretty blatant excuse to leave the treehouse now that emotions have threatened to happen, but Ben feels pretty disgusting, so he takes Jay’s hand instead of calling him out.

“Should we expect you tonight,” Ben asks Carlos while Jay fiddles with the locks, “Or is Cruella likely to keep you busy?”

Carlos frowns, thinking. “No, I’ll be there. I might be late, but I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” Jay says. He throws off a two-fingered salute as a farewell, and drops down the hatch.

Ben huffs at his friend’s hasty retreat, and turns to smile at their youngest. “We’ll see you tonight, Carlos. Stay safe.”

Carlos nods. “You, too.”

With a wave, Ben climbs down the ladder after Jay.

Neither of them move until the hatch is back in place, and the sound of sliding locks and clanging bolts has stopped. Then Jay turns without a word and walks off.

“Shall I walk you to the shop?” Ben asks, falling into step beside the thief, “Or would you rather bathe at the castle?”

Jay doesn't look at Ben when he says, “Let’s stop at the old man’s place so I can drop this off with Jafar, but you’ve got a bigger tub.”

Ben nods at that, accepting the answer for what it is. He isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of his mother seeing him like this, but if he and Jay creep in through the window and clean up quietly she’ll never even know.

(Besides, they can both pretend to be unaffected all they like. Several men are dead at their hands. It doesn't matter that their cause was noble, and it doesn’t matter that, under the barrier, death is only ever temporary. Those men will be up and walking again tomorrow, but the memory of their dying gasps will linger. If Jay doesn’t want to be alone right now, Ben can’t fault him. He doesn’t want to be alone either.)

Again, the streets clear quickly as people catch sight of the two of them. Ben tries to not look at anyone’s face, but he can’t help the old habit. He knows a few of them from being surrounded by the same faces his whole life, but that’s all they are. None of them are big name villains and most don't even seem to be their henchmen. Who are all these people, he wonders. What did they do to get sent here, to this awful, hellish place? Did they deserve it?

The way the crowds all scamper at the sight of two bloody teenagers makes him doubt it.

The walk from the De Vil manor to Jafar’s shop is a decently long one, and Ben and Jay spend it in companionable silence. When they finally come upon a wall tagged with Jay’s snake icon in vivid reds and yellows, he speeds up, leaving Ben behind. For his part, Ben keeps meandering along behind his friend, watching as Jay disappears into a building at the other end of the street.

Jay doesn’t come out right away, but Ben isn’t worried. Those coins were real gold, after all. Jafar will be pleased. Less so if he knows Ben was involved in acquiring said coins, though. Ben stops a few doors down, in the meagre cool offered by the darker patch of shade under a tattered awning, and waits.

He doesn’t have any bathtub booze to keep his attention this time, so when Jay still hasn’t come out of the shop after another minute Ben settles for cleaning his fingernails with his knife. His hands are too sweaty, though, slipping around inside his gloves, and he eventually gives up rather than risk slicing his fingertips. Another minute passes, and Jay still hasn’t come back out. The air is shimmering with heat radiating up off the cracked asphalt, and Ben feels ridiculous standing alone on an empty street, holding a weapon like he’s waiting to blitz the first person who walks by.

Another minute passes. Another. Damn, it’s hot. The sweat dripping down his back and shoulders makes Ben itchy. Antsy. He fiddles uselessly with his knife, tries to breathe through the muggy air sitting thick and heavy in his lungs. Five minutes go by with Ben standing awkwardly by himself and the heat pressing in on him from all sides, his mouth so dry but every other part of him dripping with sweat. It’s strange of Jafar to keep Jay this long if he isn’t upset, but those coins were real gold, he’ll be pleased.

It’s been six minutes and counting, and Ben’s ears are straining for any noise from the shop. His grip on his knife is white-knuckle tight to keep it from slipping, and he’s cautiously edging his way down the street, creeping up in front of Jafar’s shop, when Jay comes charging through the door with a huff. His hair is still twisted up into a tight bun to keep it off his neck, and other than the gash on his shoulder he doesn’t have any new marks that Ben can see. Jay looks at him, and at the knife in his hand, and raises his eyebrows.

“You were in there a while,” he says, half an accusation and half in defense, and Jay snorts at him.

“Dude, he started ranting about the Cave Of Wonders again as soon as he saw the gold. Be glad I wasn’t in there for the rest of the night.”

Ben sighs, “Oh, right. That explains it.”

Jay bumps their shoulders together, and the two head back the way they came.

The Isle Of The Lost is terrible no matter where you go, but there’s still a division between Haves and Have Nots. The Haves are all villains of at least B caliber, either for their actual crimes or for their behavior once arriving on the isle. The Have Nots are henchmen and minions who threw in with the wrong villain, or petty criminals who were sent to the isle when the kingdoms purged their prisons.

The villains with magic tend to be more feared than those without, even though it isn't really usable on the isle. Maleficent is obviously top of the food chain, second to only Hades, but Jafar and The Evil Queen are both very close behind her. Dr. Facilier, Ursula, and Gothel all fall somewhere below them, with Cruella, Gaston, Hans and Lady Tremaine making up the bottom rung of the A-listers.

Ben doesn’t know where his father actually lies on that list. He figures his dad is classified similarly to Claude Frolo or Shan Yu, so reclusive and well-defended that he’s a hard target to hit. He’s sure when his parents first arrived on the isle there was a pandemonium of villains trying to storm the castle, but almost twenty years later the blood lust has died down, and people have mostly… Not given up, but moved on from trying to kill the beast. (Ben ignores the quiet voice in his head saying that it’s probably because they _did_ , over and over again, until their revenge got boring and they finally left him alone.)

As a result, Ben’s Father’s castle lies not too terribly far from Queen Grimhilde’s, in the more upstate part of the isle, unofficially dubbed the Thorn District for the way Maleficent’s tower casts it’s shadow over the whole cul-de-sac. The surrounding forests are shady and surprisingly green given they haven’t had direct sunlight in years, but Ben knows better than to wander off the beaten path, or to walk that path with his guard down. Shere Khan never comes up to the castle, but Kaa does sometimes, and there are other creatures in the woods besides.

Still, it’s a familiar walk, and Ben and Jay make it to the castle unmolested. Ben leads the way around to an old stone wall, covered in thorny vines, and climbs up using the same hand and footholds he’s been using for years. Jay follows along at a slightly slower pace, and the two slip soundlessly in through Ben’s bedroom window.

Ben is lucky enough to have an en-suite bathroom, and in exchange for a few dirty favors (often _literally_ dirty) Carlos came over and tinkered with the plumbing through the whole castle, so now the water that slowly fills Ben’s claw-foot tub is actually _warm._

Jay has already stripped naked in the time Ben was fiddling with the faucets, and he catches the rag Ben throws to him with ease, stepping over to the sink and using his hands to gulp down mouthfuls of lukewarm water, before he wets the rag and uses it to scrub off as much of the grime and caked-on blood as he can. As clean as he’ll get, Jay slides into the tub. Ben does the same, sighing in relief as he soothes his parched throat and starts to finally feel clean again, and takes his spot across from Jay, their legs overlapping under the water.

One of Carlos’s homemade air conditioners hums and clanks in the other room, cooling down Ben’s rooms enough to be actually comfortable, despite the sweltering summer heat. Maybe he’ll ask the mad inventor to fix his shower in exchange for all that silver, as the water he and Jay are lying in has already started to turn murky reddish brown with blood.

Jay has his head tipped back, his eyes closed as he scrubs himself off lazily, not even bothering with soap yet. Ben does the same, only pausing when the water becomes opaque enough to gross him out.

“Time to refill the tub,” he says, and moves when Jay gently kicks him so he can unplug the drain with his foot.

The only real benefit of the isle: no bills to pay. If you can manage to keep your own plumbing and wiring in order, you’ve got all the electricity and running water you want. Unless you’ve managed to get yourself stuck in one of those run-down apartment buildings, of course.

Ben moves so he’s kneeling while the tub refills, scratching at a streak of caked-on blood, using his nails to chip it off while Jay gladly takes up the newly-freed space, spreading out in the tub without a hint of shame, his legs falling around Ben’s hips.

“Do you have to make this as homoerotic as possible every time we take a bath together?” Ben asks as he grabs the soap, not actually upset.

“Dude,” Jay snorts, without opening his eyes, “We’re taking a bath together. It’s already homoerotic.”

“Point,” Ben concedes. He’ll never say it out loud, but he’s honestly touched that Jay trusts him enough to do this, especially given what he’s been through. There are plenty of people on the isle who would gladly take advantage of his vulnerability, for any number of reasons, but with Ben Jay allows himself to let his guard down.

With the last of the grime finally washed off his body, Ben leans forward, one hand bracing on Jay’s chest, careful not to dunk his head under the water. Jay opens one eye curiously as Ben moves over him, but Ben shushes him, looking at the cut in his shoulder.

His assessment earlier was mostly correct. It isn’t deep, but it is jagged and nasty-looking, and already more red and puffy than it should be. Infected.

“Dirty knife,” Ben guesses, lathering up his hands and starting the slow, unpleasant process of cleaning the cut out.

“Filthy,” Jay agrees, biting down a wince. “Shit stings.”

“I’d imagine.”

It takes a while to really scrub out the worst of the grime already settled into the cut, and Ben ends up draining the tub and having Jay lie under the running faucet while Ben carefully reopens the wound. Between the fresh blood and water, and a decent amount of soap, they manage to get it mostly clean.

Jay doesn’t say a single word when Ben climbs out of the tub and pries the cracked mirror off of the wall to dig bandages and antiseptic ointment out of the hollowed-out hiding space. Ben doesn’t say anything either. Later, Jay will ask Ben to name his price for the medical care, and Ben will give him an answer because that’s how things are done on the Island, but for now, Ben treats and bandages his friend’s injury without comment.

Jay makes for a poor patient, grumbling and occasionally swiping at Ben while he does his business, but soon enough Jay is all patched up and Ben shoves his legs out of the way to settle back into the tub for a final rinse. He’s absolutely going to have to ask Carlos about the shower. The one in his parent’s room, as well.

As clean as they’ll get, Ben watches Jay meander naked into his room to get them something to change into, grinning at the memory of a time when he would have been watching Jay like a hawk, ready to get violent the second his hands strayed. But Jay doesn’t steal what’s already his, Ben knows. The thief won’t take anything from him that isn’t offered.

Ben uses the last of the bath water to scrub his blood-and-sweat-soaked pants, knowing they’re already stained beyond repair and not particularly concerned. They’re just stains, after all, and it’s not like Evie made them. These were work pants.

Jay lobs a change of jeans at the back of his head, and Ben half-heartedly flips him off as he stands to hang his pants to dry. He changes while Jay kneels in his place, already redressed in a pair of jeans Ben will have to remember to take back from him, and scrubs his own ruined pants.

“... You think he can do it?” Jay asks, while Ben is putting the medical supplies back into their hiding spot.

“Carlos?” He asks, just to be sure.

“Yeah.”

“... If it’s possible, Carlos can do it.”

“And if it’s not?”

Ben sighs, slumping against the wall. He traces the scar on his left palm as he thinks. If it’s impossible… “Then we’ll be no worse off than we already are,” He settles on. “My parents are convinced there’s no way out, but they don’t know what Carlos is capable of. Or Evie, for that matter. They don’t even fully understand how the barrier works. My dad didn’t want to listen to explanations of the magic and mom says he kept her out of it, too. I think Carlos and Evie can do it, but if they can’t, we’ll just keep looking for another way.”

Jay looks at him skeptically for a moment. Long enough that Ben begins to doubt his own words. All of that’s pretty easy for him to say, isn’t it? He may have a rough time out on the streets, but it’s no worse than any other isle kid. Unlike other isle kids, though, Ben has a home to go to if it gets too much. He has somewhere safe to hunker down, with parents who will look after him. It’s so easy for him to act like everything will be fine.

Ben is opening his mouth to try and backtrack, not on his confidence in their friends but on the way he’d presented it, when Jay scoffs, wringing his pants out as he stands. “Don’t let C hear you talking like that,” he says, shoving Ben out of the way so he can hang his own jeans up. Ben laughs agreeably.

“He’d tell Mal, and she’d call me an idiot.”

“She’s right, man. You’re a dumbass.”

They bicker for a bit longer before it’s time to part ways. They both have more tasks to do before the day is over and it’s time to meet up with the others. Jay climbs back out the window, and Ben waves him off before returning to his bedroom proper, where he pulls on a shirt and combs his hair into some semblance of order. His undercut is growing out, he’ll have to stop by the Tremaine place before tonight.

As presentable as he’ll get and without a speck of blood on him, Ben heads off into the rest of the house in search of his father.


	2. Up Past Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben was never a brave child, but some things had to be done.

**Seven Years** **Ago**

 

Life on the Isle wasn’t always like this. When Ben was little, his parents had kept him hidden, tucked away safely inside what remained of the castle. He grew up… ignorant, mostly. His parents never told him anything about where they lived or why, only that he was forbidden to go outside. It was too dangerous, they said. Too wicked, plagued by evil villains and terrifying monsters. Ben was expected to stay inside, where his mom and dad could keep an eye on him, and that was final. 

For a time, that was enough. More than, in fact. Ben had never been a brave child, and the very idea of the outside world terrified him. He was safe and happy with his parents, who were always around to play with him and tell him stories and teach him things. Sure, life was tough on occasion, but Ben was too young to understand why they didn’t always have food or why his dad would get so angry or why his mom would sometimes just sit and cry. This was all perfectly normal to him. After all, he’d never known anything else.

Years later, Ben would look back and both appreciate and resent his how hard his parents had worked to make him think nothing was wrong. His childhood was… not perfect, of course. There were animals that sometimes crept out of the woods to prowl around the castle, and sometimes Ben could hear screaming off in the distance. (“Just a fox,” his dad would say, and for a while Ben believed him.) There were nights he was stuck in the crawlspace, and told to be silent and still until their visitors left, and his parents came to get him. Those nights had been the worst. The crawlspace was dark and cramped and sometimes Ben would be in there for hours at a time, straining his ears for any muffled sound or stray word he might be able to catch. It was awful, but they always had food the next day, so Ben learned not to complain too much.

It wasn’t until he had nearly reached double digits - which would make him fully grown, by isle standards - that things changed. His parent’s visitors began to show up less and less, and the sounds Ben had struggled to try and overhear his whole life got louder and angrier. One day, the visitors stopped coming all together. His parents started fighting, first in whispers and then shouting at each other behind their bedroom door, late at night while they thought Ben was asleep. His mom told him they would have to start eating less, and his dad opened up a door Ben didn’t know existed and started to pull out the emergency stash of cans and bottles and vacuum-sealed packages he’d been told about once but had never really payed any attention to.

After almost five months, that ran out, too.

Ben didn’t complain that he was hungry. Not once, because he wasn’t dumb and he knew that he ate more food than his mom and dad did, even though they were bigger. They didn’t complain either, but he knew they were even hungrier than he was. Maybe that was why they were always fighting. 

Ben didn’t complain, but he kind of wanted to, because he could feel his stomach clenching around nothing and it hurt.

After four days without food, while Ben was supposed to be asleep, he heard his dad get up and creep down the hall. Those four days were the longest Ben had ever gone without eating, and the hunger pangs were keeping him awake. He’d figured the same must be true for his dad, and he’d poked his head out into the hallway to ask if he could sleep with his parents that night.

But his dad had been walking towards the door, something Ben had only ever seen him do when he had visitors. Only, if there were visitors, Ben would be hiding in the crawl space. Confused and alarmed, Ben had watched his dad pull the hood of his jacket down low over his face, undo the locks, and go outside.

He doesn’t remember how long he sat on the stairs, staring at the door in shock before he finally sprung up and ran to wake up his mom. The following hours had been terrifying if only because of how confused he was. His mom had tried her best to calm him down and reassure him, even though she was scared, too. Ben clutched her shirt and tried to believe her. He didn't, really, but it was the middle of the night and he hadn’t eaten in four days and eventually exhaustion won out over hunger and fear, and Ben fell asleep.

When he woke the next morning, his dad was back, and he had food! Ben had sat at at the table and gleefully stuffed his face, and his parents must have thought he’d be paying more attention to that than anything else, because they had an argument right there in the other room where he could still hear them. Ben didn’t understand most of it, but he understood that his dad had gone out and fought the evils and the monsters and the dangers lurking outside in order to bring back food, and his mom was angry and scared because he’d gone alone. 

“You needed to stay here!” His dad shouted, one of his earthshaking roars that made Ben’s chest feel hollow. “If we leave him alone and they find him--”

Oh, Ben realised. They were talking about him. 

In fact, if he thought back on it, and tried his hardest to remember the other arguments that he’d been trying to ignore… they were usually about him. His parents needed to keep him safe. They needed to keep him fed. They needed to keep him hidden.

With his parents screaming in the other room, Ben stared at the half-eaten food in front of him. He ended up eating it all, because he really was very hungry, but it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ben wasn’t stupid. He knew his parents worked hard to take care of him. He knew he didn’t do enough to help. He knew, after four days of no food and a year of his parents fighting, that it was time to be a man and carry his share. He just... wasn't sure how.

Ben didn’t jump up and leave the castle that night, or the night after. For months, he sat awake as one of his parents or the other would go out, once or twice a week. They figured out a routine pretty quickly, and one would stay with Ben while the other went out, and they all pretended they weren’t scared. Sometimes they came back with food. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they would come back all shaking and moving weird, and whoever had stayed home with him would wrap them up close and wipe the blood off wherever they’d been hurt, and they would sit together in the dark and hold each other. Ben hid on the staircase and watched.

He had never been a brave child, so it took him almost a year before he found the courage to go out on his own. Ben wasn’t anything like the heroes in the stories his mom had told him; the men who could slay dragons and save princesses and rule kingdoms with fairness and compassion. Ben was just… Ben. He didn’t have what it took to be a hero, but he couldn’t just sit and do nothing. He was ten now, almost as old as Wendy when Peter Pan came to take her and her brothers away. It was time for him to go on his own adventures and start earning his keep. 

He’d tried, once, to ask his parents if they would take Ben with them when they went out. He knew better than to try and ask again. They wanted to protect him so bad they wouldn’t even listen when he said he wanted to protect them, too. 

So Ben was ten years old when he started carefully counting the nights and keeping track of how much food they had, so he could know when his parents would go out and, more importantly, when they wouldn’t, and one night when his mom and dad were both very asleep, Ben crept out of his bedroom, and down the stairs, and up to the front door.

The line of heavy bolts and locks had been there since Ben could remember, but he’d never actually tried to undo them before. He ended up needing to drag a chair over and climb up to reach the top ones. It took a long time, but he was careful and quiet, and he managed to get all the chains and padlocks and hooks all undone without making too much noise and waking up his parents.

Then Ben put his hood down low over his head like he’d watched his mom and dad do, and took a deep breath, and stepped out into the woods. 

It wasn’t running away. He had every intention of coming back. Ben was just… going on an adventure. Like the heroes in his mother’s stories. Like Wendy Darling and her brothers. He would go out and see great and terrible things and make it home safe and sound. If he told himself that enough times, maybe it would be true.

The late October night had been icy-cold, enough to drive Kaa and the wolves deeper into the woods in search of shelter. Ben hadn’t known that at the time, of course, but later he would look back and realise how lucky he had been. There wasn’t any snow yet, but the near-winter chill had settled into Ben’s bones as soon as he stepped outside. His hands had trembled where he clutched his candle. But he had been cold before, and he hadn't come this far just to turn around. The meagre candlelight had been enough to see a few steps ahead of him, and Ben made his way down the narrow dirt path.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, or what he thought he would find, but he definitely  _ wasn’t _ expecting a city outside the forest. It was lighter past the trees, the streets dotted with trash-can fires and the occasional window light. There weren’t many people out, and the few that were had their heads and hands buried deep in worn coats and scarves. 

Ben had only ever interacted with his parents before. There were so many new people. Too many people, strange faces and winding streets and he didn’t know where he was or where he was going. He stayed near the edge of the woods.

A braver child might have gone to someone and asked for help, or at least ventured farther than the tree line. Ben had never been a brave child, so, all told, not much happened that first night. He stayed by the trees. He stared and watched. It had been nearly sunrise by the time he’d finally crept his way close enough to feel the heat of one of the small fires near the edge of the makeshift sidewalk. The man who’d been holding his hands over it was short and round-faced, with a big nose and big, square hands. Most of his face had been covered with a hat and scarf all wrapped around him, but when Ben crept closer the man looked up, and his eyes were sharp and stormcloud gray. Ben scurried back to the trees and hid behind a trunk, and the man stared after him for a long moment in terrifying silence.

“... Not gonna hurt ya, gov.” The man eventually said. Sometimes when Ben’s mom was reading to him, she would do voices. The man sounded like his mom did, when she was reading Dickens. “Long as you keep your hands in your own pockets. C’mon, it’s warmer by the fire.”

Cautiously, Ben poked his head around the tree. Then he took a step forward. Then another. 

“Aye, there’s a chap. I haven’t a thing for you to steal anyway, so you may as well mind yourself. Come on, I won’t bite. Not like those stupid dogs.” He said the last bit like he was talking to himself.

“I’m not going to steal anything,” Ben said quietly. The man nodded firmly, like he approved. Ben inched closer. “... Who are you?”

“The names Horace Badun, lad. At your service. Who’re you?”

“My name is Ben.”

Ben couldn’t see the man, Horace, smile behind his scarf, but he could see his eyes go crinkly at the corners. He had kind eyes, Ben decided. He smiled back.

“Cold out for a little one such as yourself,” Horace said, and Ben was trying to figure out how to reply to that when a crash across the street made him jump, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Someone started shouting, and then more people shouted, too, all at once. Horace sighed. “Do yourself a favor, lad,” He said, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and moved away from the fire. “Don’t ever play poker. Idiots gonna get himself killed, he is.”

“... Goodnight, Mr. Horace.” Ben called at his retreating back. He wasn’t sure why, but it made Horace laugh. 

“And goodnight to you, too, Ben. There’s a storm on the way. You’d best find shelter before the rain starts.”

Ben watched him cross the street to a building lit by dim yellow lanterns, with dice painted on the windows. People inside were still shouting, but Horace opened the door and walked right in. Then Ben re-lit his candle in the fire, turned around, and went back home. He was sliding into his bed when it started to rain.

Horace wasn’t there the next time Ben crept out of the forest. Or the time after that. He was there the third time, though, standing by the trash can and looking at the building with the dice on it. 

“Hello, Mr. Horace.”

“‘Ello, Ben.”

Ben walked over to the trash can and put his hands over the fire.

“Can I ask you question?”

“You just did,” Horace said, but he was smiling, so Ben smiled back. “G'wan. I may not answer, but you can ask.”

“Why don’t you go inside?”

“What, the casino?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

Horace nodded. “Aye, that’s what it’s called. My brother, he indulges in a few bad habits, see? Him and every other dumb schmuck who wastes what little they’ve got trying to make more.”

He must have been able to see on Ben’s face that he didn’t understand. Horace had frowned like he was thinking, then nodded to himself. “They play betting games. You pay money to play, and then keep putting more money in as the game keeps going. If you win, you take it all home. If you lose, you get nothing.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Bloody idiot never wins.”

Oh. Ben thought he understood. “Is that poker?” He asked, to be clear. 

“That it is. Used to be fun when we’d play it together, but he puts in more than he can afford to lose. Right bloody idiot he’s become." He huffed. "Right bloody idiot.”

There was something on Horace’s face Ben didn’t know the name for, so he didn’t say anything else for a long minute. He got that feeling that he should apologise, but he didn’t know what he was sorry for. He said it anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

Horace looked away from the building, the casino, and blinked at Ben. “Hell, you’re not the one bleeding us dry. What are you sorry for?”

Embarrassed, Ben squirmed for a moment before he answered. “You seemed upset,” and then, when that didn’t feel like enough of an explanation, “I wouldn’t have asked, if I knew you’d get upset.”

He didn’t know if that was the right thing to say or not, but Horace looked at him for another long minute and then smiled. “I appreciate it. You have a good heart, lad.”

That was a weird compliment, but Ben knew what to say to that, at least. “Thank you.”

When the shouting started and Mr. Horace went and got his brother, Ben went home. He spent a long time lying awake in bed, trying to imagine the betting game. Poker. Mr. Horace said it used to be fun. Maybe Ben could ask him how to play, next time.

After that, Ben figured out that Horace only came down to that part of the city when his brother was playing poker. He lived somewhere else, close by but farther down the road, but he didn’t want his brother to “Get himself in neck deep, the right rotten fool.” He’d stand by the same trash can every night, waiting, and some nights people would start shouting and breaking things, and he would go and drag a tall, skinny man with his same big nose out of the building and off down the street. But most nights Ben would go home before the game was done, and Mr. Horace would wish him a goodnight and keep waiting.

On the nights Horace was there to talk to, Ben asked questions. About poker, and where he lived, and what he did. But not too many questions, because Horace had a funny way of talking. He’d say things Ben had never heard of, like they were obvious, or he’d say parts of things and expect Ben to know the parts he didn’t say. Ben didn’t want to be laughed at if he told him he’d never been outside the castle, so he was careful to play along.

On the nights Horace wasn’t there, Ben did more exploring. There were other people up and down the street, in and out of the casino and the other buildings. None of them paid him very much attention, and most of them were moving very fast, trying to get where they were going and out of the early winter cold. Ben wandered around the neighborhood. Sometimes, people would see him and call out to him, telling him to come closer to the fire like Mr. Horace had, and Ben could ask them questions, too. Other times they’d say he could come close, but they were lying. The first time a man tried to grab Ben, he had turned and sprinted all the way home, his heart beating so fast it made his chest hurt, and didn’t go back outside for three weeks.

Most of the time, though, people just ignored him. He probably could have learned more from going farther away, or being louder about asking his questions, but then, he might have gotten lost, or another man might have grabbed him, and Ben had never been a brave child.

Baby steps, Ben had decided. That was probably the smarter way to do this. He ventured a little bit farther into the city every time he went out, and he didn’t do much besides look and listen, but looking around was important, too. Knowing things was important. Ben wasn’t brave, but he wasn’t stupid, either. 

When winter finally hit, he had no choice but to temporarily put his exploring on hold, but at least his parents weren’t going out, either. The snow built up outside the castle walls until they couldn’t have gotten the door open if they tried. Ben stayed inside with his parents, and they ate what they’d been stocking up on since they started going out, and kept the fire in the fireplace burning to chase away the cold. Ben didn’t mind the winter. It felt like it used to, when he was younger and his parents were always home with him, all the time.

Still, when spring came, Ben was eager to start going out again. The upstairs windows were ones he could actually see out of, instead of all boarded up and covered like the ones downstairs. Ben had peered out of his and the one in his parents' room day after day, and watched the snow melt.

It was wet and cold outside when Ben finally went exploring again, but it had been wet and cold when Ben snuck out before, too. The difference was that, this time, the trees were starting to grow leaves, and even though the sky was still hazy and yellow, sometimes there were stars.

The difference was that, this time, the animals in the woods had started to wake up.

Ben was never a brave child, but he must have been a very, very lucky one, because he made it all the way to and from the city that first night after the winter without seeing or hearing anything amiss. He’d gotten used to the perfect silence of the woods during his late fall escapades, and the chirping of bugs felt eerie and foreboding to him, but they were only bugs, after all. Ben had been chasing them around the castle his whole life. Even the frogs that came around to feed on those bugs were familiar, even though they honestly kind of scared him, jumping around in the bushes in the middle of the night while he was sneaking out of the castle.

He saw Horace again that first night, standing where he was every time before with a bit of rolled-up paper to his mouth. He smiled when he saw Ben, and Ben, as always, smiled back.

“Ben, lad! Made it through the season, did ya?”

“Hello, Mr. Horace. What are you doing?”

“What, this?” He held out the bit of paper. It was on fire on one end, and when Horace breathed out smoke came out of his mouth, like a dragon. Ben stared, transfixed. “I’m indulging in a bad habit, I am. Hard to come by here on the Isle.”

The Isle, Ben thought. Is that where we are? “Why?” He asked instead.

Horace snorted and took another deep breath from his rolled-up paper. “Damn heroes can hardly be bothered to sort what they send us, so even if they do toss a pack they always come in all broken-up and soggy.”

Ben had felt his heart thum-thump in his chest. Suddenly breathless, he stuttered out, “Do you know any heroes?” If there was a hero somewhere, they could come and help his mom and dad. A hero would be brave and make things right. His parents wouldn’t have to be scared and hide in the castle anymore. 

But to his disappointment, Horace shook his head, snorting again. He took another deep breath and let it out in a puff of silver smoke. “Not one, lad.” He said, and he sounded very, very sad. Ben wanted to apologise, but after what Horace said last time, he wasn’t sure if he should. “Not a single one.”

Ben was standing awkwardly, trying to figure out how to say was sorry, even though, like before, he wasn’t really sure what he was sorry for, when Horace turned to look at him with his head tilted to one side. 

“Never go much past this point, do ya?” He asked, and Ben blinked at him. 

“No, sir. I’m not supposed to go far from home.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Ben wasn’t supposed to go out of the castle at all, but it meant pretty much the same thing, didn’t it? And if he told Horace the truth, the man might have taken him by the ear and marched him right back home, like the old shoemaker in a book Ben’s mother had read to him.

For some reason, whatever he said seemed to make Horace happy, though. The old man gave him a yellow-toothed smile that Ben could actually see, without a scarf in the way. “Got someone taking care of you, then? Does my heart good to hear that.” 

Horace glanced around, like Ben’s mother did when she was pretending to tell him a secret, so he could go hide and his father could come play and chase him through the house. Ben stepped closer, and Horace smiled at him again, and ducked down close.

“Could I ask a favor of you, lad?” He whispered. His breath smelled strange, like the smoke from the mostly-burned-down paper in his hand. “I wouldn’t, normally, but. Well. Circumstances being what they are…” He trailed off, his eyes glancing back at the building with the dice on it. When he turned back to Ben, his eyes were as sharp and silver as the smoke coiling around his fingers. “I’ll pay you for it, a’course. I’m not expecting free labor.”

“What’s the favor?” Ben asked. He was a little scared, because he wasn’t really sure what was going on, but Mr. Horace was his friend, and Ben could say no if it was something bad.

Horace glanced again at the building with the dice. Ben remembered the crashing and the shouting from before, and the brother Horace had to keep out of trouble, and wondered if that was who Horace was scared would overhear. 

“Got a bit of bad news to give the missus. Gets angry real quick, she does, and I know this’ll set her off. Her boy’ll need a place to stay for a day or two, and I can’t take him. She’ll know he’s with me.”

Ben furrowed his eyebrows for a long moment, trying to decode what that meant. “You want me to… babysit?” He asked, confused. 

“Don’t need to do much, he’s a real quiet one,” Mr. Horace was quick to reassure him. “Just give him a spot on the floor to sleep and send him on his way the next morning. I’ll be here to pick him up and give you your payment.”

For a moment, Ben wasn’t sure what to do. If he brought some boy to the castle, his parents would know he snuck out. Unless he hid him? But how would he do that? But… Ben had never really talked to anyone his own age before. He’d seen other kids around this part of the isle, but they didn’t let him get close. He thought they might have been as scared of him as he was of them. It could be nice, could be really really nice, to have a friend.

“... I’d have to sneak him in,” Ben said, after a thinking for a while. “I’m not supposed to bring anyone home.”

Horace grinned at Ben with all his teeth, which was weird, because his eyes were shiny-wet like he might have been about to cry. Maybe it was because of the smoke. “I’ll pay you for that, too, then. Bless you, lad. Day after tomorrow, at sunrise, can you take him then?”

Ben’s parents didn’t sleep in very late. “Before sunrise,” He said. “So I can get him inside before my parents wake up.” 

Horace noded, and reached out to put a hand on Ben’s head. He ruffled up Ben’s hair like his dad did sometimes, and Ben smiled at him. Mr. Horace was a strange man, because he talked to Ben like he was a grown-up, but Ben liked that about him.

Horace looked at the dice building, which was quiet, and sighed. “I aughta go pull him out while he’s ahead, I s’pose.” He said, and dropped his burned-out paper roll into the trash can. “You stay safe, now, lad. I’ll be counting on seeing you here in two days.”

“I’ll be here,” Ben had promised. “Goodnight, Mr. Horace.”

“And a goodnight to you, too, Ben.”

For a moment, as Horace opened the door to the casino, Ben could hear the people inside, cheering and laughing and shouting. Yellow light sliced across the street and stained the ground. Ben felt something twisting around in his belly, excited and afraid. Then the door was closed, and the street outside the woods was quiet and dark again.

Ben could have gone and kept exploring that night, but he wanted to make sure he remembered everything Horace had said. It seemed important, for some reason. He talked about the Isle and heroes sending things. Ben had a notebook and pencils leftover from when his parents were teaching him how to write, that he kept stashed under his pillow and used to write in about his exploring and the things he learned.

So he turned around and headed back into the woods, up the path, and into the castle. He did up every lock, one by one. He went up the stairs slowly, careful of the creaky wood. He lit the candle on his bedside table and dug around for the notebook, as quietly as he could. Then he sat down on his bed and put the book on the nightstand and started to write. 

The Isle. Heroes. Bad habits and rolled-up bits of paper. The woman Horace works for, the one he calls The Missus. A boy.

A boy.

Ben was going to meet another boy. He was going to sneak a boy into the castle, and maybe they would be friends! Horace had said he’d pay Ben, and Ben wasn’t sure what that meant. But he was gonna meet a boy, another kid around his age, for the first time ever!

He was too excited to get much sleep, that night. His parents had commented on it over breakfast, and Ben, panicking, had almost told them he had a bad dream, but that would have made them pry even more, and maybe try to keep him company that night. At the last second, Ben remembered the stack of books by his bedside, and sheepishly admitted, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, that he’d stayed up reading. He got a scolding, and a warning that staying up late again would see that he couldn’t keep books in his room anymore, but that was fine. As long as his parents didn’t ask anymore questions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'll be posting a new chapter on the third of every month, from now on. If something changes, I'll give you a heads up!


	3. A Vain Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty, petty boys

**Present Day**

 

Ben finds his dad where he always is -- in the ruins of his study, staring pensively out the cracked window as if wallowing in his own head would somehow give him the answers for how to make everything better. He doesn’t look up or move or do anything at all when Ben comes in. Ben wasn’t expecting him to.

It’s always aggravating, but the heat is making Ben more irritable and impatient than he usually is, and he has to stand in the doorway taking a few slow, deep breaths before he trusts himself to step into the room. When he does he crosses to the window his dad is still looking through and fights with the old, warped frame until it gives and  slides open. A meager breeze drifts through the study. It isn’t much, but it’s better.

“Did you eat today?” Ben asks, glancing around the room. He spots the dirty plate right as his dad mumbles something about breakfast. Okay, cool. There’s that, at least. Ben scoops up the plate and starts to pick up the small bit of clutter that’s built up over the last few days. His dad will clean up after himself when he finally rejoins the world, but that could take days or even another week, and Ben would rather his father at least be depressed in a room that isn’t dirty. 

“I went out this morning,” Ben tries, gathering up the trash and dirty dishes and anything else that doesn’t belong in the study. “Snuck out the window so I wouldn’t wake up you and mom. Those stairs are getting ridiculous. I know I keep saying I’ll fix them, I promise I will, I just keep forgetting. Be right back.”

He piles his armload haphazardly and carries it out of the room and down the warped, creaky stairs, where he dumps trash in the barrel and dishes in the sink and grabs a clean rag from the kitchen. Back in his father’s study, Ben putters around, putting books away and shaking out the moth-eaten afgan his dad keeps thrown over the back of his chair. 

“Anyway, nothing crazy happened. Jay and I did a job for Carlos, met him back at his treehouse, then split up. I haven’t asked for payment yet, but I’m thinking about the showers? Sometimes baths feel gross, and it’d be faster to be able to just hop into a shower and scrub off, but if you and mom are fine with baths I might wait on that and ask for something else instead.”

He wipes dust off of shelves and puts random clutter back where it goes and leaves again to grab the broom, and his dad stares silently out the window, and doesn’t look up or move or do anything at all. Ben sweeps the floor. He waits.

After another long moment, during which Ben finishes most of his cleaning and is left fiddling awkwardly with the broom handle, his dad says, “A shower… would be nice.”

He doesn’t turn around, but Ben nods at his back anyway. “Cool. I don’t know how soon Carlos can get to it, but I’ll let him know later tonight.”

“... Tonight?” His dad asks, slowly, and Ben pauses from where he’d started carefully scrubbing the now-empty glass case that sits on his father’s desk, and looks up. His dad still has his back turned, but he’s sitting straighter than he was a minute ago. Progress?

“Yeah,” Ben says, carefully. “It’s Friday the thirteenth, you know what tonight is. The whole pack is getting together at the hill at sundown. Rumor has it even Hadie is gonna show up.”

His dad doesn’t care all that much about Ben’s gang, as far as he can tell. Or maybe he does, and just hasn’t said anything for… whatever reason. Ben avoids the gory details, but he keeps his parents updated on the shifting power balance over the isle, half to give them some heads up about any potential threats and half because it’s pretty much the only thing he ever has to talk about. His mom listens intently to basically everything he says, and he knows she’s at least kind of interested, but his dad is… hard to read, sometimes. Hell, he’d hardly even reacted when Ben told him he’d managed to get Giselle working for him. 

… Then again, after the twins, maybe his dad is just glad Ben hasn’t sworn a vendetta against Gaston’s kids. Unless he was wishing Ben had, and is disappointed that he’s on good terms with half of them. It really could go either way, as far as Ben knows.

Regardless, Ben keeps talking. Mayhem is one thing he can’t really lie about, since his dad actually came and tried to bring Ben home that first year. He saw the festival back when it was just a few cobbled-together stages and a bar put together by Diego, and over the last four years it’s only gotten rowdier and bloodier and more… well, evil. But Ben does a lot of hand-waving and downplaying. He talks about some of the music The Bad Apples will be performing, and Evie’s accessory stand her mom doesn’t know about. He fills the silence.

Eventually he’s run out of things in his dad’s study to fiddle with or rearrange. The room is about as spotless as anything ever is on the isle, and Ben still has errands to run before tonight. He takes one last sweep of the room and claps his dad on the shoulder. 

“Anyway, I need to get a haircut. I don't know if I'll be home again tonight, so in case I don’t see mom on my way out, make sure the door is locked.”

His father doesn’t look up or move or do anything at all. Ben wasn’t expecting him to. 

“... Goodnight, dad. I love you.”

He’s turning for the door when a hand grabs his wrist. Quickly, gently, so he doesn’t pull his knife out of reflex. He still jumps, startled, and whirls around. His dad is looking at him in the eyes for the first time in days and Ben, as always, finds himself frozen stiff. His dad looks almost as surprised as Ben does. Is that a good thing? What does that mean?

“... Dad?”

“Ben,” He says, and opens his mouth, and closes it, and opens it again. “Don’t go,” He all but whispers. “Stay-- stay home. We’ll have a game night. I’ll… we can play cards like we used to. And your mom. Don’t go out tonight.”

Oh. That’s.

That’s a lot.

Ben takes a slow, deep breath, and lets it out. Then he takes another one, because he’s still angry. (He’s other things, too, but the anger is louder.)

“How about you drag your selfish ass out of this room every once in a while and pretend you’re actually a part of this family before you try to bribe me with your attention?” Whoops. Maybe he should have taken three breaths.

Ben pulls his wrist out of his dad’s hand and takes a step back. His dad is still looking at him, but now he’s staring at Ben’s chest instead of in his eyes. That’s fine, it doesn't matter. It’s  _ fine _ .

“... I’ll be safe,” He says, because he can’t find it in himself to apologize. (Not when he’s  _ right _ .) “Keep the door locked, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He doesn’t close the door to the study when he leaves, because it’s hot and stuffy in the castle and getting some air circulating might do his father good. He ducks back into his room to pack a bag, makes sure the air conditioner is cranked as high as it can go, and leaves his door open, too. His dad calls after him again, but Ben is hurrying down the hallway, so he doesn’t hear whatever he says.

 

Ben had actually been planning on coming back after his haircut to poke his head in and double check that everything was fine for the night, but after that outburst he doesn’t really trust himself around his parents. He kind of turns into a different person, when he has his claws and fangs. He’ll get ready at the Curl Up and Dye. It’s fine.

Ben does make a beeline for the library though, since his mom isn’t upstairs or in the kitchen. The room was destroyed along with most of the castle back when his parents’ home had first been transported to the isle, but they’d salvaged what they could, and Ben has spent the last four years trying to repair or replace whatever they couldn’t. The room is nowhere near the splendor it once was based on the way his mom talks about it (on the rare occasions he gets her to talk about it) but it’s one of the nicest places on the isle, and Ben thinks that deserves some pride.

It takes him a bit to make his way through the rows and rows of shelves, but he eventually finds her curled up by the back window. Last spring he’d gone through and ripped all the boards off all the windows in a fit of frustration, and he hasn’t regretted it once. The window in the library faces west, and there are a few watery streaks of early afternoon sunlight shining off his mother’s hair.

She’s sitting on the floor, curled around the slightly water-stained copy of  _ The Hobbit _ Ben traded Uma four rolls of fishing line for. It wasn’t cheap, but all of the pages are intact, and even though the ink has started to run in some places the writing is intelligible enough to make sense of. He and his mom read it together when he first brought it back, and seeing her reread it now makes him decide that if he comes across a single decent copy of any of the other books in the series, he’ll do whatever he has to to get them for her.

“Mom,” He says, softly, but she still startles and jumps a little when she sees him. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” She smiles. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Lost in the story?”

“Completely entranced.”

She takes his hand when he offers it and rises to her feet, then carefully slips a thin piece of wood between the pages to mark her place, and gently slides the book onto the shelf. Ben watches her with a smile.

“You already know what happens though,” He argues, even though he isn’t any better.

“That doesn’t matter. Good books are forever.”

He makes a big show out of rolling his eyes, but they both know he agrees. She made sure to instill a love of stories into him at a young age. Ben’s happiest childhood memories are of sitting at her knee or curling up next to her in bed while she read to him. 

When Auradon is in ashes, Ben is going to gather up every book in every kingdom and have the most beautiful library built for his mother. They’ll sit on silk-upholstered chairs and read together all day long.

For now, he gives her the same quick rundown he gave his dad: He went out for a job this morning and there are two votes for fixed showers, and he’s heading out for the rest of the day to run more errands and then go to the festival. 

His mother isn’t any happier about him leaving than his dad was. The difference is, she knows better than to try and stop him. 

“Please stay safe,” She asks, wrapping her arms around him. He squeezes her back as tight as he dares. When did he get so much taller than her? He keeps forgetting, and then noticing, and then forgetting again. It’s always a shock, how small she is now that he’s all grown up.

“I will, I promise. I’ll be back sometime around noon tomorrow.” He presses a kiss to her temple, and waits for her to do the same to his cheek before pulling away. “Make sure dad eats something,” he says, trying not to show his frustration.

His mom gives him a wincing look anyway. “I will. We’ll be alright here, you take care of yourself tonight.” She jabs her finger at him. “No crazy stunts, do you hear me, young man?”

“Crazy stunts?” Ben feigns innocence. “When have I ever?”

She gives him a very flat look. He folds like wet cardboard.

“Alright, I promise. I won’t jump off any cliffs or try to fistfight any demigods.”

His mom huffs at him, but he gives her biggest, brightest grin and she has no choice but to drop it. The sullen look on her face sits wrong inside of him, so Ben lets out a sigh. “Okay, mom, I actually promise. I won’t do anything more dangerous than usual tonight, and I’ll have the gang with me the whole time.”

They both know she can’t actually stop him from doing any of those things or worse if he wants to, but Ben has always been a mama’s boy. He’ll compromise because she asked him to. For tonight.

His mom says “Thank you,” and gives him another hug.

He squeezes her back, and they trade their temple-and-cheek-kisses, and then Ben has to hurry before he runs out of time to do all the things he wants to do before the festival starts.

He feels his mom’s eyes on his back as he leaves. She doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t turn around. 

 

* * *

 

 

The Curl Up and Dye caters to anyone on the isle who can pay, since Anastasia Tremaine doesn’t believe in alienating potential customers. The Tremaine house sits a few blocks away, a solitary building without many neighbors. The back rooms at the manor are where most of the family’s actual money comes from, but Anastasia managed to convince her mother that putting the kids to work out of the house was a good idea. 

The old hag is lucky she agreed. The manor is counted as part of Anthony’s territory, obviously, since it’s where he lives, but it’s close enough to Mozenrath’s place that Reza could make an argument about it belonging to the Snakes. He hasn’t, because the Tremaine kids are mostly okay, and Anthony is too useful of an ally to pick unnecessary fights with. But if Lady Tremaine had forced her grandchildren to work the brothel, the Snakes aren’t the only gang that would have taken an issue with that, and Anthony’s unofficial claim to the building wouldn’t have overridden his grandmother’s actual ownership. In another situation, Ben would have been happy to help burn it to the ground.

He isn’t actually sure how Anthony would have felt about any of that, since it’s a hypothetical situation and there’s no point in bringing it up, but Ben can’t help but fixate, sometimes, on the hypothetical. 

The salon is barely cooler than the aching heat outside, but Ben takes solace in the knowledge that the sun will set soon, and temperatures will plummet. In the meantime, he strips his gloves off his sweaty hands and uses them to fan his face while he takes a seat. There are only two other people in the waiting area. One of them doesn’t look up from the knife she’s sharpening. The guy who looks like he’s here for a shave peers at Ben with weary recognition on his face. Ben grins with all his teeth, as big and cheerful as he can manage. The man swallows and looks at his feet.

Ben doesn’t wait long. A few minutes after he’s settled in, an excited voice shouts, “Ben!” and he finds himself with a lapful of Dizzy. Even in the sweltering dead of summer she’s still wearing layers of poofy skirts and brightly-patterned stockings, and Ben privately thinks that the littlest Tremaine is made of stronger stuff than he is.

“Hey,  _ petit lapin _ .” Ben gives her a squeeze. “How’s work?” 

“Boring,” She huffs, still in his lap. He hopes she doesn’t stay there long. He doesn’t want to make her get up, but. This heat. Eugh. “Do you know how many times I’ve swept the floor today? Oh! Are you going to the festival tonight? I can’t go yet but I heard Evie was gonna be there! Is she?”

Smiling, Ben resigns himself to his fate and leans back in his chair. The streaks in Dizzy’s hair are red and black today, probably to show support for The Bad Apples. Ben gives one a gentle tug. “Yeah, I’m going to the festival. Evie is, as well. That’s why I’m here actually.” He turns his head so she can see the awkward tufts of hair sticking out and up from the back of his skull. Dizzy brightens up like a bonfire.

“Oh! I can do it! Can I do it?”

Ben pretends to think it over. “I dunno,” He drawls, “I was considering getting my fangs back, and you know how particular I am with my appearance…”

“I can do it,” Dizzy insists again, firmer. Ben can’t help but give in.

“Alright, you can do it. I’m counting on you.”

“Yay!” She leaps to her feet and spins on her heel, grabbing him by the hand and all but dragging him from his seat. The two customers who were here before him don’t complain about having to wait longer. This is how things work on the Isle.

Beyond the curtain of paint-stained plastic, the salon is as busy as Ben expected it to be. Mayhem is a big deal for Villian Kids; he isn’t the only one who wants to make sure he looks his worst tonight. 

Drusilla and her twin Darcella, the oldest of Drizella’s daughters, are both hard at work curling and styling the two-toned hair of Ruby Heart into the extravagant updos she prefers, but all three girls pause their gossiping when they see him come in. Ben offers them all a wave and a polite greeting, but he’s privately glad that they’re all busy, and that Dizzy is very firmly pulling him away from her sisters and towards an empty chair on the other side of the room.

If he saw Ruby anywhere else, he would take the time to go over and start up a conversation. She’s kind of all over the place, and he can’t always keep up with her, but hanging out with the Princess of Hearts is always lots of fun. Especially since she has less than zero interest in his dick. Darcy and Drew are both wicked girls, they just… come on a little too strong, sometimes.

They pass Astoria, who’s chatting amicably with Uriel while she carefully braids the sea witch’s hair close to his scalp in dramatic, waving patterns. Ben calls a brief hello, and the two echo it back. 

Ben goes along agreeably as Dizzy pushes him into a chair and spins him, letting her tilt his head this way and that. She’s chattering excitedly, and he doesn’t really know what all of the words mean, but he recognises most from hearing Anthony or Astoria mutter to themselves whenever they’re working him over, so he puts his trust in little Dizzy and lets her do her thing.

Most of the hair on the back of head is lying in a pile on the floor by the time the curtains part and Anthony walks in. The only boy in the Tremaine clan has his mother’s dark, wine-red hair and pale skin, but his broad, sturdy body and big hazel eyes are remnants of the baker who would have willingly followed him and his mother to the isle, if Auradon had allowed it.

Raising a hand to wave, Ben gives a smile when Anthony spots him, and Anthony returns it with a nod. “Dmitriana,” He says, raising his eyebrows at his cousin. “You stole my client.”

Dizzy tilts her chin up defiantly. “You shoulda got him before I did!”   
Anthony gives her a Look. Ben tries not to laugh too loud.

After a brief staring contest, Dizzy huffs, setting down the clippers with a pout. “Fine. Bye, Ben. Be safe tonight!” She leans in for a hug that Ben is happy to give, and then goes skipping off into the shop, probably to do more sweeping.

Anthony stares after her, looking amused, then turns to Ben. 

“What’s the damage?”

Ben runs a hand over the back of his head, feeling the soft prickles of his hair against his palm. “I think she did okay, actually.”

Anthony makes a noncommittal sound, and Ben once again lets himself be turned and twisted and examined.

“... Alright,” Anthony allows, finally. “She did fine. Was it just the trim you wanted?”

“No,” Ben clears his throat. “I want my fangs. And a faceup, if you’ve got time, but if you need to get yourself ready I can do it on my own.”

Anthony hums, tilting his head to one side. His eyes narrow as he examines Ben’s face, considering. “You’re getting awfully dressed up tonight. Someone you’re trying to impress?”

Yes. “No,” Ben argues, “But it’s my first official Mayhem as a part of the gang. I want to make an impression.”

It’s close enough to the truth that Anthony hopefully won’t pry. He has a knack for sniffing out things most people would rather be left alone, but Ben’s journey to earn his place as Mal’s third in command is old gossip by now, there’s nothing for Anthony to dig into. (and what Anthony doesn’t know won’t hurt Ben.)

If Anthony buys his excuse or is just in too much of a rush to play inquisitor, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he drops the questions and goes to gather bottles of bleach and hair dye, and sets them on the counter while he sharpens his razor blade.

Anthony carefully shaves the design into Ben’s undercut, turning the line where his hair grows long into the upper jaw of an open, snarling maw. Jagged rows of sharp teeth sprout up from the back of his neck with every careful line of the straight razor. With the lines in place, Anthony paints bleach onto the teeth and shades of red, black, and blue dye onto the rest, so the color will come out dark and bruised-looking like black dog gums.

With the colors doing their thing, Anthony checks the time, then says, “Screw it. Left eye?”

“Always,” Ben grins.

A little under an hour later, Ben’s eyes are rimmed with careful lines of black that scythe downward at the inner corners, stretching down his nose in sharp points like the eyes of some hellish wolf. His left has three sharp lines cutting through it vertically, and Anthony has carefully shaded the points of Ben’s cheekbones and the hollows under them to give his face a gaunt, hungry look. His fangs are on proud display on the back of his head. 

Ben bares his teeth in the cracked mirror. “Wicked.”

Anthony grins back. “You do make an excellent canvas, I’ll give you that much.”

Laughing, Ben swings his bag over his shoulder as he stands, and takes a second to dig in his pocket for his wallet, pulling out the stacks of coins that pass as currency on the isle. “Some of that’s for Dizzy,” Ben reminds him. He waits while Anthony counts the money.

“You’ve overpaid,” Anthony muses, peering at him.

Ben nods. “Yeah. I want to use your attic to finish getting dressed. I’m on a time crunch.”

Anthony hums, pocketing the coins. “I’m checking that bag before you leave.”

“That’s fine.”

Anthony waves him off. Ben ducks into the back, then makes his way up the rickety stairs into the second floor of the salon. It’s just used for storage, but Ben doesn’t need anything but some space and privacy right now. He pulls off his clothes, careful not to wreck all Anthony’s hard work with his shirt, and gets dressed in what he packed for tonight. 

For all Anthony’s pointed questions, it really isn’t anything all that fancy. His pants are kind of unnecessarily tight and his fishnet shirt is kind of unnecessarily provocative, but it’s Mayhem!

Ben screws on the pointed metal caps that fit over his canines and incisors, and then digs in his bag for the long, sharp clawed rings that he slides carefully into place over each finger, tightening the chains around his knuckles and wrists until he’s sure they won’t fall off.

He’s ready for Anthony’s raised eyebrow and for Drew and Darcy to start blatantly checking him out, but he’s slightly less prepared for Astoria to whistle, low and teasing, and for Ruby to take one look at him and start laughing.

Ben flips her off, ignores the other three, and hands his bag to Anthony.

“I’d pat you down,” Anthony says, after making sure Ben hasn’t stolen anything, “but you can’t really hide much, dressed like that.”

“You’re  _ welcome _ ,” Ben grinds out. 

“Thank you!” Darcy cheers, and he ducks his head. 

He leaves the Curl Up and Dye as quickly as he can without looking like he’s running away, and is halfway down the street when Dizzy calls his name. He turns to find her sprinting out after him, clutching something in her hands.

“Wait!” She says, stumbling to a stop, “Ben, hang on. I need a favor.”

Ben waits. “What’s the favor?” He asks, holding out his hand to take the small box she thrusts forward. 

“It’s for Evie, for tonight. I was gonna have Anthony give it to her, but you’ll see her sooner.”

“A present?” Ben pretends to peek in the box, laughing when Dizzy swats at him.    
“It’s not for you! You don’t get to look!”

“Okay, okay,” Ben holds up one hand in surrender and slides the container into his pocket. “I’ll make sure it gets to her. See you around, Dizzy.”

“Bye, Ben!”

 

From there, all Ben has to do is meet up with Evie, ironically enough. She’s waiting for him outside of her Mother’s castle, all done up in blue and red, with her hair curled perfectly and her lips painted the color of fresh blood. She flutters her lashes at Ben when she sees him, and Ben grins right back.

“My princess,” He greets her, and bends to kiss her wrist. Evie giggles in delight, stepping closer to him.

“My prince. Don’t you look dashing.”

He pulls back his lips to snarl at her, metal fangs catching the light. “You look good enough to  _ eat _ .” He makes a big show of putting a hand around her waist and pulling her closer, ever-careful of how easy it would be to cut her on accident with his claws. Evie laughs again, a little breathier, and lays a hand demurely on his chest.

“Oh, dear. It seems I’ve been captured by a hungry beast. Whatever is a girl to do?”

“You could pull that acid out of your purse and melt my face, for a start.”

Evie’s smile turns wicked. “Acid?” She asks, faux-innocent. “Me? Why, my good sir, I’ve no idea what you mean! I’m just a helpless little princess.” She twirls herself out of his arms. Ben watches her go.

“Sure,” He snarks. “Helpless.”

He catches up with her to offer his arm, which she takes. The sun has only just begun to set, and though the light of it never reaches the isle the heat sure does, and it’s still blisteringly hot. But it’s a gentleman’s responsibility to escort a lady wherever she needs to go. Ben sucks it up.

“Here,” He tells her, carefully pulling the box out and handing it to her. “From Dizzy.”

Evie blinks, and pulls away from him enough to peer into the container. He can’t see what it is, but it makes her break into a sunny grin and let out a happy squeak.

“What is it?” Ben asks, leaning forward.

Evie snaps the box shut. “You’ll find out later. And we’d better hurry. Wouldn’t want to upstage Mal by being later than she is, would we?”

The way she eyes Ben while she says it tells him she knows exactly who he’s all dressed up for. Ben bites back a sigh.

 

There aren’t really any “outskirts” to the isle, since it’s overpopulated to the point that even the most inhospitable areas are packed with people, but some are less packed than others, and the shadow of the Sleeping Mountain only ever hosts a handful of truly desperate squatters, which makes it the perfect place to hold a rager.

Granted, there’s a reason why most adults won’t go close to the mountain, but it’s not like anywhere else on the isle is safer. 

It’s the one thing the kids have on their parents. The barrier works it’s magic, but the villains all remember a time when a slit throat would have meant the end for real. But the VKs all grew up with their twisted immortality. 

When you’re not afraid to die, most normal limits stop applying to you.

Jay is waiting for them at the foot of the mountain. He’s wearing a skirt and a tasseled belt, so it’s pretty obvious what he plans to spend the night doing. 

“Got a hot date?” Ben asks, raising his eyebrows. Jay gives him a look like he just sprouted three heads.

“Man, you’re the one who looks like you’ve got an appointment at the Tremaine place. I’m just here to dance.”

They probably would have devolved into more pointless bickering, but Evie swats them both on the arm. 

They’re the first three at the pass, but it’s barely a minute later that the rest of their merry band comes trickling in in twos and threes. Ginny Gothel and Claudine Frollo show up first, escorted by Jay’s cousin Jade. Then comes Reza and Yzla, bickering about magical theory as always. Edward Balthazar makes his way over with Miles Medusa and Gizelle Legume, and Hadie comes alone. Carlos finally shows up with Harold and Jace in tow. 

Ben tries to be inconspicuous about looking around, but he’s basically accepted at this point that everybody knows who he’s looking for. His whole gang is laughing at him, and a lesser villain might have let themselves seem embarrassed, but Ben is not a lesser villain.

… He still wishes he’d been more subtle though. Then again, subtle keeps going over Mal’s head, so. Maybe the sledgehammer approach is a better idea after all.

Speaking of. Even over the chattering of their small crowd, Ben can hear the heavy click of her heels on the ground. He doesn't know how he knows it’s her. He just does.

Mal is dressed for the weather as much as he is, which is to say that she’s barely covered in scraps of purple leather and green denim and black lace and Ben can actually literally feel his mouth watering. More to the point, she comes strutting over with her hair wild and her eyes gleaming, grinning like hell come home. She’s holding a half-empty bottle of something she must have been taking swigs of on the walk over. The alcohol has her cheeks flushed.

“Well?” Mal asks, teasing and challenging like she isn’t the reason they’ve all been standing here in the first place. Her mischievous mood is infectious, and with the arrival of their leader what had been a group of kids hanging out in a clump is suddenly a pack of hungry dogs, raring to go. They shift restlessly. “Let’s go terrorize the festival.”

Whooping and hollering, the gang stalks their way down the dirt path toward the festival ground, where Mayhem is already in full swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A question! I'm gonna be keeping the Rotten Five as a big, co-dependant unit, but would you guys wanna see them go full poly, or should I stick with Ben and Mal as the power couple from hell? Also, what are your thoughts on ratings? I hadn't been considering putting any graphic smut in this, but as I work on it there are more and more scenes that could totally work. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	4. Something Sinister Slowly Stirring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking snakes and the art of lying

**Seven Years** **Ago**

 

The next night, so late it was almost morning, Ben snuck out again. It was risky, going out so many times in one week, but he’d made a promise to Horace, and anyway it was worth maybe getting caught if he could meet the boy. He pulled on his coat against the early spring chill, tugged his hood down low over his face, and lit his candle like he always did. He crept down the stairs, pulled a chair over to the door, and undid all the locks and bolts, like he always did. Then he stepped out into the night and closed the heavy door behind him, and made his way through the woods, like he always did.

He hadn't known, at the time, that that would be the night his luck changed.

Horace wasn’t there when Ben emerged from the tree line, but that was alright. It was still a little early. Ben tried not to be too impatient. He used his candle to light the trash can, then blew it out and put the stick of wax in his pocket. He waited.

Familiar sounds came out of the casino; shouting and laughing. An alley cat streaked by with something dead in it’s mouth. Ben waited. And waited. And waited.

It felt like forever by the time Horace showed up, but suddenly, Ben didn’t mind. Because walking next to him were _three_ boys! Three of them! One of them had the same big nose and silver eyes as Horace did, and he was probably a little older than Ben. The second one, too, he was older and had the same big nose, but he was all tall and skinny like a stickman, and his skin and eyes were darker. But the last one was very, very small. His hair was all curly and black, and he had freckles all over his face and his hands. He was staring at his feet while he walked, all hunched down and curled up under his coat.

Horace grinned his yellow grin when he saw Ben, and Ben smiled back. “Ben, lad! Ran a bit late I’m afraid, but you aughta still have plenty of time ‘til sunrise. Boys, this is Ben.”

“Hello, Mr. Horace. And… Hello.” Ben waved, nervous and excited, and tried not to do something dumb like scream and run around. He never thought he’d want someone to like him so bad, but he did. He really, really did.

The tall, skinny boy nodded at him, his eyes a little narrow and squinty. “Him?”

Ben blinked, but the boy wasn’t talking to him. Horace shoved him a little, not very hard. “Yes, him. Mind your manners, or I’ll mind ‘em for you.”

Ben didn't know what that meant, but before he could say anything, the boy with Horace’s eyes stepped forward. “Don’t mind Jace,” He said. “I’m Harold. This is Carlos.” Gently, he reached back and nudged the younger boy foreward. The boy peered up at Ben with very big, very dark eyes, and didn’t say a word.

“Hi, Harold. Hi, Carlos. Are you the one who’s coming with me? I don’t have space for all three of you, I’m sorry.”

It was Harold who answered, nod nod nodding his big round head. “Just Carlos. Me and Jace can handle ourselves, we can.” Carlos kept quiet, and went back to looking at his feet.

“... Told ya he was a real quiet one,” Horace said. He sounded sad. “Hasn’t said a peep for over a week now, and he minds himself. Won’t be any trouble for you and yours.”

“Oh,” Ben said, trying not to sound disappointed. How could he make friends with a boy who couldn’t talk? But Harold seemed nice! And Jace was kind of scary, but maybe if Ben worked for it he could win him over, too! And he could try to be friends with Carlos, even though he was very small and quiet. “How old is he?”

Instead of answering, Horace turned his kind eyes to Carlos, who blinked up at him, then hesitantly extended one hand, all his fingers up. 

“One more, lad,” Horace said. Carlos put up one more finger, to make six. 

“I’m eight,” Ben said, trying to start a conversation. Carlos looked at his feet, and said nothing.

After a moment, Horace sighed, reaching down to ruffle Carlos’s hair like he did for Ben. “I’d best get the boys home. I’ll come and get you the morning after next, so don’t you worry. Alright?” Carlos nodded. Horace bowed and whispered something to him, and Carlos nodded again, a little firmer. Again, Horace whispered something, until a little stubborn frown was on Carlos's face. He nodded one last time. Satisfied, Horace stood back up. “I’ll pay you plenty for this, Ben, I promise.”

The other boys said their goodbyes to Carlos, which were as weird as Horace’s had been, and then Ben realized he was supposed to lead Carlos to his castle, and the nerves and excitement started up again. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Horace. Goodnight, Harold. Goodnight, Jace.”

Jace kept his eyes all narrowed and squinty. “You look after him,” He said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Oh, leave him be." Harold gave Jace a shove. "We’ll see you in the morning, Ben. Goodnight.”

Then they were gone down the street the way they came, and it was Ben and a silent, tiny six year old alone by the trees.

“... Stay close to me, okay?” Ben said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “The path is really bumpy and you might get hurt if you fall.”

Carlos nodded. 

“... Do you want to hold my hand?” That got a look from him, a little peek up from his lashes like he’d done before. Ben stuck his hand out and smiled his biggest smile. Slowly, Carlos raised his hand, and Ben took it carefully. He thought maybe Carlos hadn’t ever held anybody’s hand before. Ben made sure he wasn’t squeezing too tight, lit his candle in the trash can, and led the way back into the woods.

They almost didn’t make it to the castle. Later, Ben and Carlos both would look back on that night and laugh at how quickly both of their lives could have changed, if Ben had gone back alone, or if Carlos had been just a little slower.

Spring had come, and the earth had thawed. After a long winter of hibernating, Kaa was awake. And he was  _ starving _ .

Ben held Carlos’s hand all the way through the woods, until they came across the part of the path that ran alongside a stream. The water had been frozen before, but it was slowly melting as the nights grew warmer, and Ben was excited to see it in the summer.

Normally Ben liked the silence of the woods, but Carlos was quiet as a ghost, and it was only his hand in Ben’s that let him know the younger boy was there, so Ben started to babble a little after they started walking, telling Carlos about the books he’d read and dancing with his parents. Carlos didn’t really respond at all, but Ben got the feeling he was listening. When Ben told him he wasn’t actually allowed to leave the house, or have people over, and the whole thing had to be a secret or he’d get in big trouble, he felt Carlos’s hand squeeze his tight, and it felt like a promise.

In the end, it was his talking that got them in trouble. They reached the stream, and Ben drew up short. He didn’t know why, at first, but he felt like something was wrong. There was a great big vine stretched over two trees in front of them, where they’d have to walk under to keep going, only it wasn’t a vine, because it was moving. And then it lifted it’s head.

Ben had never seen a real snake before. His dad said he used to see snakes in the garden when he was a little boy, and his mom had told him stories with snakes in them. Ben even had a book all about snakes and lizards and other stuff, but this was the first time he’d ever seen one in real life.

It was big and long and it’s scales were all dark. Ben couldn’t tell what color they were just by candlelight, but he could tell they had little spots and stripes in dizzy patterns all down it’s tail and back. The snake’s eyes were big and yellow and shiny and nothing like the snake eyes in Ben’s book. 

“Well,” said the snake, all drawn-out and sleepy. “Jusst what do we have here? Two little boyss out of bed?”

“You can talk!” Ben said, stunned. His mom told him stories about talking animals, too. Usually they were friends with heroes and helped them save the day. The snake didn’t have lips, but it squinted it’s sleepy eyes at Ben in what might have been a snake-smile.

Carlos’s hand in Ben’s was clutched very tight. Ben bumped their shoulders together.

“Of coursse I can, dear boy. That trick hardly sseemss all that impresssive, around here.”

“Around where?” Ben asked, and then, “Please don’t tell my parents I was out this late. I’m not supposed to.”

The snake made a funny little wiggle and a sound like hissing a laugh, and Ben laughed too, because it was all kind of silly, and because maybe he’d make two friends in one night! One of those friends was a talking snake, but that was okay; Ben didn’t mind being friends with a snake if the snake didn’t mind being friends with a person.

“Why, around  _ here _ , of coursse. There’ss lotss of talking done, on the Isle.” The snake drooped closer, tilting its head this way and that, like it was trying to get a better look at Ben. This was the second time somebody’s said that. _The Isle._ “Not much dessent converssation though, I’m afraid. Ssay, how about you tell me what you’re up to ssneaking around, and I’ll keep your ssecret.”

“I… well.” The snake had gotten very close, now, to Ben. And Ben was staring back, because it was polite to and he wanted to make a good impression, but he was having a hard time. It was distracting, having someone so close to his face. Ben blinked, and blinked again. “You promise you won’t tell?”

The snake laughed it’s hissing laugh and wiggled it’s funny wiggle. “Of coursse, dear boy. You can trusst in me.”

The snake’s big golden eyes got closer, and closer, and Ben though that was probably true. The snake had been nice and friendly, and Ben had plenty of time until sunrise. He could stay here and talk. He could trust him. He could… trust…

“Oh, dear,” The snake said, “Thiss iss why little boyss have bed timess. You musst be sso tired, awake sso late.”

Ben nodded. He was wrong, the snake’s eyes weren’t gold, they were green and pink and blue and green again, and getting closer. They were pretty, but Ben’s own eyes were heavy and foggy and tired. He was awake so late, up past his bed time. Ben needed to, to get Carlos, but he was so tired. He was so, so tired.

The snake wrapped all around him, tight, and Ben blinked heavy eyes up at it. “Ssleep,” The snake said. “It’ss all right, I’ll keep you ssafe. Trusst in me…”

The candle fell out of Ben’s loose hand, moving the light even farther away, making it even harder to see. That must be why Ben couldn’t see the snake’s eyes anymore. Or it’s face at all. It was dark, opening up over him and getting wider, dark and dark and Ben didn’t need to see anyway, so he closed his eyes.

He heard a thunk, and a shout, and the coils all around him went tight and then loose again, yanking him off his feet, and Ben remembered that he wasn’t tired at all, actually.

By the time he’d oriented himself on the frozen ground, Carlos had lifted his stick and hit the snake a second time, a grim look on his little face. Ben realized, like a shock of cold water, that the snake had tried to eat him.

It tried to _eat_ him!

Carlos was a much braver child than Ben. He tried to hit the snake a third time, but he was only six and the snake was very big, and it used it’s tail to knock him over. Carlos didn’t make a sound when he fell, and Ben could barely make out the shapes. Just dark blobs against darker woods, with the occasional streak of moonlight.

“Oh, you little--!” The snake said, and then it was rushing at Carlos and staring at him with it’s colorful eyes. “I ssee you have no resspect for your elderss. Perhapss I sshould teach you ssome mannerss!”

Ben watched Carlos’s eyes start to get heavy, like his eyes had gotten heavy. The snake coiled all around and around him, squeezing tighter until Carlos was wheezing, wrapped up in scales all green and brown and black. The snake started to open up it’s mouth, wider and wider, and Ben smelled smoke, and it occured to Ben all at once to wonder why he could suddenly see so well, since the sun hadn't come up yet.

_The candle_ , Ben thought. And then, _fire_ , Ben thought. And then, _he saved me_ , Ben thought.

The fear didn’t go away, because Ben wasn’t a brave child. But being scared of something was no excuse not to do it, when it was this important.

The candle had fallen on it’s side, and at first it didn’t do much but lie there and almost burn itself out. But under the melting layers of ice and snow there were years of leaves and stuff all over the forest floor, and some of them had thawed out enough to be mostly dry, and after a while next to the candle they were all the way dry, and then they were burning. The forest was burning.

So was the stick Carlos had had hit the snake with. It had fallen near the candle when he’d gotten knocked over, and the end was on fire. Ben picked up the end that wasn’t, the wood rough and splinter-y against his hand, and he started swinging.

He hit the snake right in it’s open mouth. Little bits of smoldering wood went everywhere, all over Ben and Carlos both, little stinging embers that made Ben gasp and yelp. They were little things, though, just tiny smolders.

The snake wasn’t so lucky. The inside of it’s mouth was all burned up bad, and it was thrashing. Ben hit it again, and threw the stick in the river so it wouldn't catch anything else on fire, and...

The fire was spreading. Slowly, but still. Ben took two shaky steps toward the mostly-frozen river. He'd heard of forest fires before, read about them in books. People die when there are forest fires. His parents live in these woods. Ben needs... a bucket, or a something. He needs--

Carlos grabbed his wrist before Ben could go any further, tugging him back. Ben looked back at him, then at the fire, and pulled his wrist out of Carlos's hand. He _needs_ \-- 

Something wet and cold fell on Ben's face. Then something else, and then another. Little cold, wet drops, and more, and more.

Ben grabbed Carlos’s little hand in one of his, jumped over the unconscious snake, and took off sprinting for home, making his way almost completely by memory and dragging Carlos along behind him. Dragging might have been a strong word, since Carlos was sprinting as fast as he could, too, but Ben’s legs were longer. 

Through the steadily-growing downpour, thin streaks of weak, pale light started to shine through the gaps in the empty branches all around them. The sun was rising, and by the time they reached the shape of the castle Ben could see again. Not much, but enough that he wasn’t as scared of Carlos getting his leg caught on something and falling down. Ben didn’t think he could carry the boy the rest of the way, but he promised Horace and Harold and Jace that he’d look after him, and Ben didn’t want to leave Carlos alone in the woods for however long it would take for him to get home and wake up his parents and get them to run back with him.

But Ben didn’t have to do any of that, because they made it to the castle without anybody falling or getting hurt, or any more snakes showing up. Which meant that Ben didn’t have to tell his parents, and they wouldn’t yell at him and make Carlos go home. 

It was thinking about that -- about the fact that Ben was still breaking a rule, and Carlos might not have been allowed to stay if his parents know he was there, even though Ben made a promise and it seemed like a really important one, even though Carlos was little and young and apparently couldn’t go home for a few days -- that made Ben pull up short of the door.

The sun was already up. Ben’s parents would be waking up soon, if they weren’t already. There was no way they wouldn't hear the heavy door creaking open.

Carlos tugged against the grip Ben had on his wrist, blinking at him and breathing hard, shivering in the cold and wet. “We can’t use the door,” Ben panted, “My mom and dad will hear it and know I snuck out. They’ll know you’re here.”

It wasn’t just about keeping his secret. Ben wanted that, too, wanted to keep being able to go out and see the place, The Isle, and meet new people. He wanted to make friends with Carlos and the other boys and hear Mr. Horace’s funny accent.

But mostly it was about the snake that tried to eat them (tried to eat them! They almost got eaten!) and Carlos with his sad little face all wet and pink, and his little hand in Ben’s bigger one. Ben didn't know why Carlos couldn't go home, or why he didn't talk, or why he was so shy, but Carlos saved his life and Ben made a promise and he was gonna keep it.

Carlos just nodded, and it felt the same way it did when Carlos squeezed his hand. 

“We’ve gotta find another way inside,” Ben said, trying to think. He looked up at the castle. The other doors were all boarded up and covered; none of them opened up anymore. So were all the windows on the first floor. Ben knew he wouldn't be able to get into any of them.

He’d never seen the castle from the outside with this much light before. It was helpful, at least. He started to walk around, thinking. Thinking. Carlos let go of his hand to walk the other way. 

Ben was still thinking when Carlos came rushing back a minute later, and grabbed Ben’s sleeve to tug at him. Ben followed around to the other side of the castle.

There were vines growing all up the wall, stretching out and around the window a few floors up. They used to be roses, Ben’s dad told him once. They used to bloom big and red, but there wasn’t enough sun, so they were just the vines now.

Ben blinked, and turns around.

The angle was all wrong with him so close to the ground, but he knew that stretch of woods. He knew those vines. He knew that window.

“That’s my bedroom,” He said, whirling back around to face Carlos. “That’s perfect! We can get right in and my parents will never even know!”

Ben grinned, and Carlos smiled back a little bit.

Then Ben looked back at the vines. “But, uh,” He said, his grin fading. “I don’t know how to climb.”

Carlos frowned, thinking, then walked over and grabs a handful knotted, mostly-dead plants. He tugged. The vines were so old and tangled around the stone bricks, they didn't budge an inch. Carlos tugged again, a little harder, and the frozen vines didn't moved. 

Ben came over to tug on the vines, too, because he was bigger and probably stronger than Carlos, and he should check just to make sure. When everything stayed in place, Carlos put one foot into the tangled mass, pulled himself up, and hung there.

Then he put his other foot in, a little higher, and pulled again.

“I’ll climb right behind you,” Ben said, a little nervous as he watched Carlos rise above the ground. “So if you fall I can catch you.”

Carlos looked over his shoulder and down a little bit, and he smiled, and Ben smiled back.

The vines carried them all the way to Ben’s window. Climbing wasn’t as hard as Ben worried it would be, but it wasn’t easy, either, and the vines might have been mostly dead but the thorns were sharp and tried to scratch him. He was wearing too many layers for it to work, but his gloves and jacket and pants and bootstrings kept catching on the pointy tips and then he had to detangle himself, usually with one hand, while the other one held onto the vines.

Ben looked down once, and then he didn’t do that again.

When they made it to the top of the vines, he and Carlos both had a moment of wondering what to do about the window. It wasn’t locked, Ben was pretty sure, because he couldn't remember locking it and he hadn’t touched it since last spring, but the wood frame was as frozen as everything else, and it was hard to push on it from the outside while balancing on top of a tangle of dead roses. 

They pushed, and the window didn’t open, and didn’t open, and didn't open, and Ben was just starting to feel a mix of frustrated and kind of panicked, because if that didn't work then they were back to square one and it was still raining and he needed to get Carlos inside and the window  _ still wouldn’t open _ and --

The glass slid up with a rattling, grating sound that made both boys jerk back, far enough that Carlos almost lost his balance and Ben had to lunge and catch him. They hung there, breathless, three stories above the ground, with Ben holding the windowsill with one hand and Carlos with the other and both of them staring at each other for what felt like a good chunk of forever.

Then Ben realized, _hey, that noise was pretty loud_ , and he hauled Carlos back up and started shoving at the window again.

Sometimes, being slow and careful was the right way to be sneaky, because sometimes being slow and careful meant being quiet. But other times it didn’t matter how slow or how careful you were, loud things were loud and there wasn't much you could do about it. If you were really quick, then it was only loud for a second, and you could hope people were too busy with other stuff to notice.

Ben’s window had creaked since forever. Slow and careful wasn’t gonna work.

Sure enough, the grinding, squeaking, scratching sound as they shoved the window up the rest of the way was loud enough that, if Ben’s parents hadn't heard it the first time, they sure did the second.

Heart racing, Ben dove into his room, helped Carlos in after him, and then froze as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Which was a good thing, actually, because if his parents had been coming from down the hall he would never have had time to shove Carlos into the closet and start yanking off his wet clothes as fast as he could. He got most of them all in a heap in the corner of his room where his dirty clothes usually went, and he was pulling his pajama pants on over his wet jeans and leaning halfway out the window when his door opened and his dad half-ran in.

“ _Benjamin Florian De Chatillon, what on on god’s green earth are you doing?!_ ” His dad roared, in that way that meat he was more startled than angry. Ben pulled his head out of the window and grinned like he didn’t just break a whole huge bunch of rules. 

“It’s raining!” He said, excited. “That means winter’s over!”

His dad kind of sagged a little like he did when he got all worked up and then stopped being worked up really fast. He blinked. Ben blinked back.

“... Did the thunder wake you up?” His dad asked, a lot quieter. Ben nodnodnoded. His dad sighed and ran a hand over his face. “We heard your window fly open, I though…” Ben didn't find out what he thought, because his dad didn't finish his sentence. Instead he walked across the room to pull Ben away from the window, frowning with his bushy eyebrows. 

“You’re soaked,” his papa said, “And freezing! Ben...” Another sigh, but this one was less angry, and more… what was that word? The one that meant you were frustrated with someone but in a way that meant you still loved them.

“I wanted to go out in the rain,” Ben said, sorry. His papa’s face did something really weird too quick for Ben to tell what it was before it was gone again. Then Ben was being picked up off his feet and dropped lightly back in his bed. 

His dad said, “It’s still early, go back to sleep. It’ll probably rain like this all day, you can stick your head out of the window later.” His voice sounded like his sigh did. _Exasperated._ That’s what it was called.

Ben let himself be pushed down and tucked in, but he gave a big reluctant sigh, like maybe he didn't want to go back to bed. “Okay.”

“ Bonne nuit, petit lapin.”

“Bonne nuit papa. Je t'aime.”

“Je t'aime aussi.”

His dad kissed his forehead and pushed Ben a little sternly into the pillows, then he closed the window against the cold outside, shut the curtains so it was dark, and left the room.

For a long moment after the door was closed, Ben didn't move. He laid in bed for one, two, three, four long minutes before he couldn't take it anymore, and he jumped up as quietly as he could and went to his closet.

Part of him almost expected it to be empty, like Carlos and the snake and everything else was a crazy dream, even though he could feel his cold, wet jeans under his pajama pants and his legs were getting really itchy.

But when Ben opened his closet door, Carlos was still there, curled into a little ball on the floor, waiting. He looked up at Ben, kind of scared and wondering and uncertain, but they did it! They had made it home, and had they beaten the snake, and Carlos was gonna stay at the castle for two days and Ben’s parents didn't know anything. They did it!

Ben grinned at Carlos so wide his cheeks hurt.

Slowly, Carlos smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I know Kaa should be speaking Hindi but Magic Talking Animals Speak In All Languages Because I Say So


	5. Hooked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben leaps without looking and ends up bloody for it

**Present Day**

 

With the sun hanging low and fat on the horizon, the shadows all stretch out far into the east, miles tall and fading into the growing darkness. Fire pits and torches are interspersed with neon lights, staining the tents and ground a dozen shifting, flickering colors, confusing the eye and mind. From off on the main stage, The Bad Apples are already starting their opening set. The deep bass is thumping so loud Ben can feel it in his chest even from the other side of the festival grounds.

  
Ben fucking loves Mayhem.

  
For all their rowdiness, the first thing the gang actually needs to do is get Evie signed in and set up at her kiosk -- something she technically doesn’t need much help with, but they all go with her anyway. Evie’s accessory stand sits near the table where Freddie Facilier is selling absinthe and moonshine by the bottle, so she’s guaranteed to see a ton of foot traffic, and most people at the festival should know better than to try to rob her, so all the things she parts with should be things people actually paid her for. Evie is cautiously optimistic.

  
Ben is also optimistic, but without the caution. He knows their princess is gonna do great.

  
The wooden stall is painted black, with a red and blue striped cover and lots of shelves and display cases Ben and the others all worked together to help make. It takes a few minutes to get all of Evie’s wares out of her bag and into the places they go, and then a few more minutes for Evie to rearrange everything to her liking, but before too long there are rows and rows of beautiful things on display with Evie’s name and signature on them, and Ben feels so full of pride he could explode.

  
He can’t cup her face and kiss her forehead in public, but he can grab her by the hips and drag her close, bodies pressed together, growling low and threatening while he scrapes his fangs over the pale line of her throat. Ben sees more than one person stop and watch out the corner of his eye. Good. Let them see. Let them _know_.

  
Evie is giggling as she detangles herself from Ben’s arms, blushing sweet and lovely across her cheeks. He’s tempted to chase her; to grab and bite at her, to really put on a show and thoroughly stake his claim, but -- no. Evie is a dangerous and formidable villain in her own right, she can take care of herself. He won’t tarnish her image by making it seem like he’s overly worried.

  
He can see the same sentiment on the faces of his gang members. Miles is the next to move, predictably, and he scoops Evie right off her feet and twirls her, cackling his slightly-unhinged laugh. When he lets her go, Jay is there to kiss her wrist, and Edward and Harold are both bowing low and deep for their princess. Hadie half-shoves Jay out of the way to throw an arm around Evie’s shoulders and shake her, her eyes glowing red and trained on the small crowd of festival-goers wandering past. Gizelle gives a nod and Jace gives a huff, and it’s Evie who steps forward to reach for Carlos and Ginny and Claudine. Reza and Jade aren’t in the gang, but everyone knows the Snakes and the Unseelie are an unshakable alliance, and Jade throws her arms around Evie’s neck and babbles out her congratulations and well-wishes. Ever-overcompensating, Reza stays against the wall with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, but when Evie smiles at him he blushes.

  
Then it’s Mal’s turn, and she can do whatever the hell she wants, because Evie is her property and everybody on the isle knows it.

  
The group moves out of their leader’s way when she steps forward, giving her all the space she needs to do whatever it is she’s going to do. Mal reaches up to take Evie’s chin in her fingers, turning her face this way and that, examining her, and Evie holds very, very still.

  
Ben can barely breathe, looking at them. Mal is a head shorter than Evie without heels, but that doesn’t matter. She commands the stall, the crowd, the whole fucking street with just her presence. Her eyes cast emerald lights over Evie’s skin. Her fingernails -- filed sharp like the claws Auradon stole from her -- are so gentle against Evie’s face. Mal looks at Evie like the moon, all care and cruelty, and she doesn’t need to say that she’ll mutilate anyone who tries anything funny tonight. It’s in her eyes where they’re locked with Evie’s own, it’s in her fingertips where they trail over Evie’s skin, and Ben aches and _aches_ and wishes she would look at him like that, _wishes_ \--

  
“I’m sure you’ll turn a pretty profit,” Mal says, quietly. “I’ll take you out this weekend to spend whatever you make tonight.”

  
Evie blinks hard, gasping in a shaking breath and snapping out of the daze she so often enters when looking at Mal. Her cheeks are rosy pink. Ben wants to kiss them. “I’ll make you proud,” Evie says, barely above a whisper.

  
Mal smirks in response. “You always do.”

  
“You two gonna make out, or just stare at each other?” Freddie calls from her booth a little ways away. She’s perched on the bar, swinging her feet and ignoring the line of people there to buy her booze. She’s all done up tonight, white skeleton paint and bone-bead jewelry, her dreads decorated with colorful wraps where they’re piled on top of her head in two twisted buns. Seeing the amount of effort she obviously put into her appearance makes Ben feel validated. Fuck you, Anthony.

  
“I dunno,” Mal says, turning to face her. “You gonna pay to watch us?”

  
“Tongue is extra,” Evie says primly.

  
Freddie throws her head back to laugh. “Nah. No offense, but you two ain’t my type.” Her eyes slide to Claudine, who has been staunchly ignoring her up ‘till now. “... But if that one goes on the market, let me know.”

  
Claudine tries to ice her out. Freddie flutters her lashes until Clauding turns away, huffing.

  
“... Anyway,” Mal says, stepping away from Evie. “Someone will check on you every thirty minutes, scream if you need us, you know the drill.”

  
Evie nods, smiling while she makes little shoo-ing motions with her hands. “You guys all go have fun! I’ll be fine.”

  
Ben doesn’t doubt it. That bottle of acid comes to mind. But he still gives her another teasing bite -- on her shoulder, this time -- and everyone else makes their own second round of farewells before they disperse, leaving Evie and her jewelry stand alone on Devil’s Road. Freddie starts up a conversation about beadwork, and Ben strains his ears, listening to their voices until he can’t anymore.

  
By the main stage, a crowd has already started getting rowdy; a sea of gyrating bodies surrounds the shoddy wooden platform on which The Bad Apples are performing, Diego’s vocals nearly drowned out by the cheering voices of the crowd and the distant screams from other parts of the festival. Ben makes no move to either join or retreat, his eyes on Mal. She doesn’t usually dance, but sometimes she does, and Ben wouldn’t consider himself the worst dancer on the isle but he also really isn’t the best, and --

  
“Okay,” Jay says, rolling his shoulders. “Who wants to get freaky?”

  
“Pass,” Mal quips without looking at him. Ben tries to be discreet as he breathes a sigh of relief.

  
Jay gives Mal his flirtiest grin, the one that makes his eyes go dark and his full lips stretch wide across diamond-white teeth, leaning close enough to her that she has to crane her head back to keep eye contact. “Aw, c’mon Mal,” He purrs. “You know you want to get all up on me.”

  
“Oooooh, yes please!” Yzla cackles, to the surprise of no one. “I’d pay to see that.”

  
“Go throw your money at the Tremaine place,” Mal snorts, shoving Jay off of her. “And you can find somewhere else to stick your dick.”

  
“Someone else,” Jay counters.

  
Yzla cuddles up to him, wrapping around one of his arms and gazing up at him adoringly. “I volunteer!”

  
Jay twirls a lock of Yzla’s dark hair around his finger, his eyelashes fluttering. Mal rolls her eyes at them both. “I’m sure you do.”

  
It’s Hadie who interrupts them, hip-checking Mal on her way past. “Any fucking way,” She says, settling next to Yzla, who immediately stops clinging to Jay and starts making heart eyes at her instead. “Mal, you and me in the pit? Last round of the night?”

  
Mal’s grin goes jagged and sharp. Ben tries to ignore the way his heart beats double-time at the sight of it. “Sure, if you want to get your ass kicked again.”

  
Hadie laughs, the brilliant blue of her hair sparking to life for just a second before it fizzes out. “I won that fight and you know it, Scales.”

  
“If that’s what you gotta tell yourself.” Mal says, dismissive. Oooh, they’re gonna have a hell of a rematch tonight. By the cruel grins on both of their faces, it’s gonna be an all-out bloodbath.

  
… Ben needs to not think about Mal kicking ass and getting all sweaty and bloody while she’s standing right there, dressed like _that_.

  
Oh, look, a change of topic! “So,” He says, clearing his throat. “Who’s going where?”

  
Jade makes her way to stand by her cousin, leaning in to bump her shoulder against Hadie’s. “I’m dancing.” Jay pretends to gag, and goes ignored.

  
“I’m gaming,” Miles announces, flexing his skinny arms. Gizelle, Harold, and Jace all throw in with him, and Mal shrugs before saying she was thinking of the booths as well.

  
“Yeah,” Ben is quick to say. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  
Carlos looks at Ben like he’s an idiot. Ben resolutely ignores him. He’s not that transparent. He’s _not_.

  
Edward taps his cane idly on the ground. “I… want a drink,” He sniffs, “And somewhere quiet to sit.”

  
Miles sneers at him. “What, pussy, can’t handle the crowd?”

  
Edward’s cane is up and in Mile’s face a second later, the serrated metal tip catching rainbow light. Miles dodges, but it’s a near thing. “Some of us don’t need to overcompensate,” he says, peering down his nose at Miles. “I know what I’m capable of, and so does everyone else. I don’t have to try and prove it.”

  
“As if you fucking could you smug piece of --”

  
“We’re in public,” Mal snaps, and like that their fight ends. They both turn apologetic eyes to Mal, who’s already turning away, done with their drama.  
Bickering happens, but there’s a limit to how much outsiders should be allowed to see.

  
Ben scampers to keep up with Mal. Behind him, Claudine, Ginny and Carlos agree to go with Edward, while Reza says he plans to go take a headcount for the missing members of his gang. Gizelle and the boys fall into place around Ben and Mal, and they make their way past the stage and to the game booths.

  
Next to the performances, the biggest attraction at Mayhem is the Coliseum. The fighting pit is a massive hole, with barbed wire fencing up against the walls. The floor is sheet metal welded together, and onlookers peer down and either cheer or heckle for whoever they bet the most on.

  
At first, Mal looks like she’s going to brush right past -- she’ll be back tonight for her fight against Hadie, anyway -- but Miles gets close enough to see who’s fighting, and immediately screams “Eat shit and die, Hook!”

  
Mal doubles back to look in the pit. Ben follows her.

  
Harry Hook is going toe to toe with Tyler Rourke, and, from the looks of things, losing. It’s surprising; for all his training by his military father, Tyler is a bitch and everyone knows it. He’s sloppy and arrogant, and used to picking on people too weak to put up a fight. He usually doesn’t last long against a real opponent; he doesn’t know how to handle someone other than his dad actually challenging him.

  
But maybe he’s learned a thing or two, because he isn’t giving into his anger issues like he usually would. He’s focused and contained, dodging Harry’s hook and fist, retaliating with sharp jabs that look pretty painful. They’re both bleeding -- Harry from his nose and lips, Tyler from a number of shallow cuts on his face, arms, and chest. As Ben watches, Harry goes in for a swing with his hook, and Tyler ducks around it, getting a knee in Harry’s gut and sending him to the ground.

  
“Who got first blood?” Ben asks, loudly enough the crowd can hear him over their own cheering. Some kid -- an Orphan, probably, from the way he’s dressed -- blinks at Ben and then flinches away when he recognizes who it is standing so close to him.

  
“U-uh, Harry Hook did. Sir.”

  
Ben grunts and turns back to the fight, and pretends not to notice the kid scurrying off.

  
Weird, that Harry got first blood and Tyler managed to keep his head enough to get him on the ropes like this. Ben might have to readjust his threat assessment for the prick.

  
Harry lunges again, this time aiming high, like he plans to get Tyler’s eye, but Tyler ducks and spins and kicks at Harry’s head. One arm up, Harry blocks, but goes stumbling back enough that he bangs into the side of the pit. Barbed wire cuts through his jacket and shreds his arms and the back of his neck, and then Tyler is there trying to drive him to his knees and --

  
Harry gets Tyler by the ankle, twists, and throws him into the wall. His hook comes down a second later.

  
It’s always gross to watch someone get gutted. It’s grosser when their intestines are actually being pulled out of their body. Harry makes a disgusted face and flicks his wrist, shaking the innards off his precious hook.

  
That’s that fight over, then.

  
People are grumbling or cheering, passing around their bets as the announcer calls out for a challenger for Harry. Tyler can’t drag himself up the ladder, so someone has to go and get him, and the trail of blood and other things left behind is disgusting. Maybe if the guy wasn’t such a prick he’d have gang members who could stitch him up and carry his dumbass home.

  
“So,” Jace drawls. “Who’s jumping in?”

  
Miles cackles, showing off his crocodile grin. “Ooooh, someone’s gotta. Let’s draw straws.”

  
Mal looks like she might be considering it. Ben says “We don’t have straws,” and jumps into the pit.

  
This isn’t the highest Ben has jumped from -- he turns his fall into a roll, lands shoulder-back-hips-feet and springs up with only a minor ache. He even manages to mostly avoid the smears of Tyler all over the floor, which is a plus.

  
Harry’s eyes are so wide Ben can see the whites all around them. He’s shaking a little, and his split lips are pulled into a grin that’s always chilling no matter how many times Ben sees it. The hand holding his hook is white-knuckle tight against the slippery layer of fresh blood that soaks his dumb poofy shirt almost all the way up to the elbow.

  
“Awwwww,” Harry coos, when he registers exactly who it was that just plummeted into the Coliseum with him. “Lookit tha, a poor little beasty fell in ma cage.” One foot, and then another, Harry starts a slow, almost lazy stalk around the edge of the pit.

  
Ben bares his teeth and snarls low in his chest. His mouth already tastes like iron and salt from his own sweat on his lips and the metal of his fangs. With his adrenalin starting a slow burn through every inch of him, it almost feels more like he already has blood on his tongue.

  
“Sucks for you,” He drawls, mirroring Harry’s slow stalk. Above, Ben hears the crowd’s excitement spike. He and Harry both have their reputations; champions for two of the most powerful gang leaders on the isle. They’re two predators circling each other, and the only way forward is through. “Mal hasn’t fed me in a couple days. I’m starving.”

  
“Are ye, now?” They’re moving faster, now, waiting, testing. Tension builds in Ben’s chest and limbs and head, pulsing behind his eyes. Which one of them will cave first? Who will make the first lunge? “And here a’thought Mal’s lapdog was well kept. Or were ya waitin’ to take a bite out of poor Harry Hook?”

  
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Harry’s already roughed up from that last fight, but Ben has gone to blows with him often enough to know that that just gets him more riled up -- in fairness, Ben is the same way. If Tyler hit Harry hard enough anywhere to leave a weak spot, Harry hides it well. He saunters around the edge of the pit, twirling his hook. Waiting, like Ben. Hungry like Ben. “You’re not important, Hook. You’re just prey.”

  
Harry pouts, makes a big show of how upset that makes him. “Aww, Ben, that cuts. And here a’thought what we had was special.” He rests the hand not holding his hook on his chest, over his no-doubt wounded heart.

  
An opening?

  
A trick. Harry makes the first move, lunging across the pit, lashing out with his hook. Ben skitters back, brings up his claws -- misses as Harry darts away. Snarling, Ben dives after him. He chases Harry around the pit for a moment, slashing and dodging in turn until Harry fakes him out, reaches open-palm for Ben’s wrist and uses his own movement against him to swing that stupid hook for Ben’s hand. Ben tries to twist --

  
His claws come away red, Harry’s arm bleeding steadily from four gouges. His shoulder, not his wrist like Ben was aiming for, but it’ll do. He raises his claws to his mouth and licks them clean.

  
_(Iron and salt on his tongue, his heartbeat roaring,_ roaring _in his ears like the call of some terrible beast, a shivery hunger curling up warm and perfect in his belly, whispering “eat him, swallow his heart, make him_ bleed _.”)_

  
“First blood,” He says, loud enough for their audience (Mal) to hear. Then, slow and sharp, Ben grins. “I’m gonna rip your throat out with my teeth, little pirate.”

  
Harry makes a clipped, furious sound, and dives at him.

  
Their fight carries them around and around the pit, chasing each other’s tails, snapping and snarling. Ben dodges Harry’s hook again, but not his fist, which crunches against Ben’s nose hard enough it starts to bleed. _(Blood in his mouth on his tongue in his throat kill the prey eat it raw.)_ Ben staggers back, black dots swirling in his vision, and this time the hook catches his chest and rips a jagged line right down, through shirt and skin both. Pain. _(Hunger.)_

  
“Uh oh,” Harry taunts. “Looks like I hooked the baby beastie.”

  
Snarling, Ben tackles him, drives them both the floor. Harry’s hook digs into him, raking up his arm, aiming for his throat -- Ben gets his teeth around Harry’s wrist and _bites_ , fangs sinking into flesh, wrenching bone. His claws in Harry’s shoulders, pinning, _rending the flesh from his bones sweet and red eat it._

  
Harry yelps in pain and drops his hook. Catches it in his other hand. A flash of silver and red through the air -- pain. Ben’s cheek, his jaw.

  
He manages to let go and dive back before Harry can gouge his eye out, but it’s a near thing, and Ben is left clutching his face in careful hands, stumbling back. Harry follows -- a booted foot presses against Ben’s chest, sending him backward -- serrated metal digs into his back, shredding his skin like fragile cloth as he collides with the wall of the pit, _pain_ \-- Ben dives to the ground. The hook gets tangled in the wire, and Ben slashes at Harry’s ankle. His claws tear through leather and into skin. This time Harry is the one who drops, pinning Ben, a hand on his head, his skull cracking off the metal floor.

  
Ears ringing. Pain.

  
Hunger.

  
( _Sweet blood on his tongue tear chew swallow)_

  
Ben’s vision swims. This time, when he sinks his teeth into Harry’s skin, he doesn’t let go.

  
When Harry tries to pull away Ben rolls them, putting himself on top, and without a weapon all Harry can do is pound on Ben’s shoulders and back, try and gouge him with fingernails. He claws at the scratches from the barbed wire, pries them open more, tries to rip off Ben’s skin with his bare hands, but Ben’s teeth are sunk into Harry’s shoulder deep enough for the tips of his fangs to scrape bone, and he holds on with a grip that would make Miles’s crocodiles jealous, lock-jawed and snarling.

  
_(Eat the prey eat it red and juicy tear off chunks swallow by the mouthful eat it)_

  
Ben grips the flesh between his teeth and _rips_ , ligaments straining against the force, muscles separating, skin tearing open blood rushing warm _squirming breathing alive in his teeth_ and the prey’s voice spiking high and panicked --

  
“I yield!”

  
Ben stops. Waits.

  
Harry’s hands fall slowly from Ben’s back, shaking in pain. “I yield. That’s enough.”

  
Carefully, Ben slides his teeth out of Harry’s shoulder. _(No no no EAT IT)_

  
He stands and swallows a mouthful of blood, his and not-his, _(hot and metal-sweet)_ and goes to detangle Harry’s hook from where it’s tangled in the barbed wire. His hands are shaking.

  
The crowd above is screaming and booing in equal measure. Ben doesn’t look up. (Did Mal watch? Is she proud?)

When he turns back around Harry is on his feet and clutching his shoulder, looking pale and pissed-off in equal measure. For his part, Ben feels woozy and sore, his back and face and arm and basically everything burning from being ripped to hell and back. Without a word, he holds out the hook.

  
As Harry takes it, too quiet for the crowd to hear, Ben asks, “Can you make it up the ladder?”

  
Harry glances at it. “Climb behind me.”  
Ben nods, and up they go.

  
(Harry’s blood drips in his hair and on his face. Ben fights the urge to lick his lips. The fight is over, there is no prey, he’s a person again. Push it down.)

  
Standing around the Coliseum, the crowd is fucking pumped, cheering and jeering and shoving each other. A commentator declares Ben the winner, and calls out a challenge. Will he return to the pit? If so, who will face him?

  
Nobody seems keen, but Ben isn’t paying attention to any of that. Harry slinks off as soon as they get to the top of the pit, and Ben is looking around for --

  
“Not bad,” Mal says, sauntering over with a grin on her face, eyeing Ben with an expression he can’t place. Beside her, Miles is practically doing backflips.

  
“Not bad?! That was fucking wicked!” He gnashes his teeth in a poor imitation of Ben, then breaks out cackling.

  
Harold is at Ben’s side a moment later. “These will get infected,” He fusses. “If you’re going for another round, let me clean you up first.”

  
His head feels floaty and distant. Ben lets himself be pulled out of the crowd.

  
Mal looked proud of him, she looked impressed. He got her attention and impressed her, he kicked Harry’s ass. Ben feels like he could punch a _god_.

  
… He won’t, because he promised his mom, but he totally could.

  
They find a bench, and Ben holds still while Harold digs through his bag and pulls out a bottle of something that smells like moonshine and a cloth --

  
“Motherfucker!” He snarls. It burns.

  
“Sorry, sorry!” Harold is quick to say. “Harry ripped off, uh… a good patch of the skin on your back.”

  
… Oh. Hm. Ben thought he’d just tried to skin him, but if he actually succeeded that would at least explain the weird, tickling weight that keeps brushing his tailbone. “Is anything hanging?”

  
“Almost all of it is hanging,” Gizelle answers, impassive. She’s holding a knife in her hands, so that’s a pretty clear sign of what’s about to happen.

  
What’s worse is that the adrenaline is fading, leaving Ben to become more and more aware of just how much his body fucking hurts. A quiet, childish part of him wants to whimper _no, it’s not that bad, please don’t._

  
“Sorry,” Harold says again.

  
Ben closes his eyes.

  
He feels heat at his back, bodies shifting -- “I’ll do it,” Mal says.

  
Eyes flying open, Ben tries to peer at her, but she’s already moving behind him, so…

  
Oh. Huh. There’s the pain.

  
It’s like flicking on a switch, one moment his back is a nebulous, distant burn, painful but not present, and the next Ben gritting his teeth hard enough his fangs cut into his gums and leave him bleeding there, too, as the full effect of his fight with Harry makes itself known. Fucking hell, oh God, it _hurts_ , he can feel air against exposed muscles and it has him clawing at the bench, swallowing down a pathetic groan.

  
Hands find his and steady him, brace him. A knife digs through the mess of him, cutting off the strips of useless skin that would have fallen off anyway without proper stitches, and then there’s a pile of Ben’s _flesh_ on the _ground_ and he leans over to puke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I wrote almost this entire chapter on my phone because my laptop died hahaha kill me. I also uploaded from my phone so if the formatting is wonky as hell in sorry and I swear I will fix it asap. The next one will probably also be late, I'm sorry. I'm trying to work around the laptop issue but for now expect slower update times. :(
> 
> (Also to give context for Ben's obscenely edgy internal monologue during the fight, I completely forgot to tag this as Beast!Ben initially. Also I eat Hot Topic gift cards for breakfast :/ )


	6. Great Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn something new every day.

**Seven Years Ago**

 

Ben knew his parents would figure he’d gone back to bed, so they wouldn’t come and check on him, which meant it was safe for him to take Carlos’s little hand in his and pull him to his feet. He led him through the room and into the bathroom, and Ben had him stand there for a minute while he went and got a towel. 

Carlos’s face was all red, and he was shaking a little from being wet and cold for so long. Ben handed him the thickest towel he had. “We can put your clothes up to dry,” he offered. “And you can wear my stuff for now, if you want to.”

Carlos fidgeted uncertainly for a moment, but then he nodded and gave Ben a tiny little smile. Ben smiled back a much bigger one, and went and got some pajamas out of his drawers. He took off his cold, itchy wet jeans, too, while he was at it. 

Back in the bathroom, Carlos was still wearing his shirt and pants, but he’d taken off his coat and scarf and gloves and stuff. He was drying his hair, which sprung up in fluffy slinky curls once they weren't being held down by water. Ben reached out and gave one a little pull, until it went straight. When he let go it boinged right back into place, and Ben laughed. 

He laughed harder when Carlos wrinkled his nose at him. “Here,” he said, handing over the clothes. “I’m gonna hang your stuff up, but I won’t look, okay?”

Carlos nodded again, taking the pajamas from Ben’s hands. True to word, Ben turned and picked up Carlos’s sodden jacket. He tried to wring out some of the water from it into the bathtub before he threw it over the rod for the shower curtain. Carlos’s scarf and gloves and socks and stuff all followed.

Ben listened to the sound of rustling fabric until Carlos came slipping up next to him. Ben’s clothes were too big on him, so Ben said “Here, let me,” and cuffed the sleeves and the pant legs. When Carlos tried to put his shirt and pants over the shower rod, Ben stood behind him, worried he might fall or something, because he was so much smaller than Ben. But he managed it, so it was okay.

With both of them wearing comfy, warm PJs and Carlos’s clothes hanging to dry, Ben said “We should get some sleep,” and reached, again, for Carlos’s hand.

Carlos stopped when Ben tried to lead him over to his bed. 

“What’s wrong?”

Carlos only looked at Ben with big, dark eyes.

Ben frowned a little. “It’s okay,” he said, “I don’t think I snore and I won’t cuddle you if you don’t want me to. But I'm really tired and you should get some sleep, too. Um. I can sleep on the floor if you want?”

That made Carlos shake his head really fast, and grab Ben’s hand, and lead him to the bed. He looked like he didn’t really know what to do once he got there, though. Smiling, Ben pulled Carlos down onto the mattress and wiggled himself under the covers. He threw his blankets over Carlos, shoved the pillow mostly his way, and put his head down.

“Goodnight, Carlos.”

Carlos was much slower about putting down his head and closing his eyes, but when he did Ben closed his, too.

He might have thought the excitement of that night (and the snake that tried to  _ eat him _ ) would have made him more wound up, but once he was lying down Ben just felt exhausted. He could hear Carlos breathing across from him, could feel Carlos’s little hand in his, and that meant Ben didn't have to be freaked out, because they made it home to the castle and they were safe now. Within minutes, Ben fell asleep.

When he woke up, it was because he was hungry, which meant breakfast would be soon and his parents would be coming to wake him up. So Ben reached over and gave Carlos’s shoulder a shake to get him to wake up and go hide again.

Carlos didn’t wake up, though. Not really. He scrunched his face up and burrowed under the covers and made unhappy sounds. Ben had to shake him really hard to get him to wake up, and when he did Carlos bolted up like something bit him and looked around the room with big, wide-open eyes. 

“Hey,” Ben said, quietly. “My parents are gonna come get me soon, you’ve gotta hide again.”

When Carlos kept looking at him, Ben started to get worried. Slowly, he reached out and held Carlos’s hand. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Do you know where you are?”

That felt like a silly question to ask, but the way Carlos eyed him made him worry that maybe it wasn’t, and Carlos really didn’t remember or something. It took a long minute before he finally nodded, and Ben was so relieved he flopped right back into bed. “Good,” He said, peering up at Carlos. “You scared me.”

The look Carlos gave him was a very sorry one, kind of wincing down and frowning, so Ben made sure to give him a big smile to let him know it was okay. “You gotta hide again,” He told Carlos, now that Ben was sure he was listening. “My parents are gonna come get me for breakfast. I’ll be gone for a little bit, but I’ll be back. Okay?”

With a little nod, Carlos climbed off the bed and started to make his way to the closet. Ben went “Oh!” and jumped up, too. He opened the chest at the foot of his bed and dug out the big fluffy blanket he used on the nights it got really, really cold in the winter, and carried it over to where Carlos was standing. “Here, you can make a little nest and stuff, so you’re not just crammed in there.”

Ben thought Carlos must have been very, very shy, or else maybe all his other friends were just very, very mean, because he was very slow and careful when he took the blanket out of Ben’s hands. His eyes were very wide, which was maybe just how his face looked, since he seemed to do it so often. Ben didn’t have many things, but he took a minute to kick some stuff out of the way so Carlos didn’t have to sit on anything. Then Carlos was nodding and stepping back into the closet, and Ben was closing the door behind him and climbing back into bed, where he pretended to be asleep.

It was only a few minutes later that his mom came to get him. She kissed him on the forehead like she always did when she came to wake him up, and Ben made a big show about yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning, little prince,” His mom greeted him. Ben smiled up at her. 

“G’morning, mama.”

“Your father tells me you were trying to climb out the window this morning,” She said, pulling the covers down off of him and giving him a nudge so he climbed out of the bed. She smiled when she said it, so Ben knew she was joking, but he still shook his head. 

“No! I just wanted to see the rain!” 

“You couldn’t see it through the window?”

“No,” Ben insisted. “The window was too, um. Foggy.”

His mother shook her head at him, but she was still smiling. “That’s what happens when it’s cold and rainy out, sweetheart.”

Downstairs, his dad was already at the table, holding his head up with his hand and kind of snoring a little.

“Adam,” Ben’s mom called. “Adam. Adam!”

“Hm?!” His dad sat up really fast, snorting. He squinted sleepily at them.

“Good morning, papa!” Ben said, laughing as he ran over and climbed up into his dad’s lap to help him wake up, like he always did. His dad gave him a big big squeeze and shook him a little.

“Good morning,  _ petit lapin _ . Hungry?”

‘Yes!”

His mom set out plates of breakfast, and Ben squirmed out of his dad’s lap and took his own seat. He waited until his parents started talking to each other before he carefully stuffed a handful of food into his pocket. Then another one. And another.

He took a big bite when his dad looked over at him, and chewed it  _ really _ slow, so that they’d think he was eating. He managed to hide most of his breakfast in his pockets without his parents noticing anything, and Ben wiggled a little in his chair, feeling very proud of himself.

It was naughty to be sneaky, but not if you were doing it for good reasons. Peter Pan was sneaky, and so was Aladdin and Robin Hood and Flynn Rider, and even Mulan, when she needed to be. They were all heroes, and Ben wasn’t but he could still do good things and be the right kind of sneaky, he thought.

When breakfast was over it was time to go brush his teeth and get dressed, and then sometimes Ben played with his dad and sometimes his mom told him stories and sometimes he would read by himself, so that’s what he said he was going to do. “I wanna finish my snake book,” Ben told his mom while his dad washed the dishes. “Did you know Reticulated Pythons can grow up to thirty feet long? And that’s not with magic, they just get really big!”

His parents  _ oohed _ and  _ ahhed  _ and then sent him off upstairs to get clean and read his book.

Ben made extra sure that his door was closed behind him before he went and opened the closet door. Carlos jumped when he did, and it made Ben jump, too, but neither of them made a sound so that was okay.

“Hi!” Ben said, almost whispering. “Here, I got you breakfast.”

He dug the food and a napkin out of his pockets and spread it out on his nightstand. “You gotta eat it with your hands, though, sorry. I couldn’t get a fork.”

Carlos was very quiet when he came over. His eyes were wide again. Maybe that really was just how his face looked. Ben smiled and smiled at him until he walked over to the nightstand and took a bite. When Carlos looked at Ben again, Ben nodded. “It’s okay, go ahead. I got it for you.”

When Carlos finally started to eat for real, Ben took out new clothes and went into the bathroom to get dressed and brush his teeth. He tried to clean some of the food stuff stuck to his pockets, because he wasn’t sure what his mom would say if she noticed, but he didn’t think he did a very good job.

He checked if Carlos’s clothes were dry -- they weren’t -- and decided that since Carlos would be hiding and Ben’s parents couldn’t yell at him, then Carlos could wear pajamas all day long. 

When he came back to put his pajamas in the dirty clothes pile, Ben was surprised to see that all the food was already gone. “Wow!” Ben said. “You were hungry.”

Carlos gave him big, scared eyes, like maybe he did something wrong, and Ben bit his lips. Carlos was scared by most things, Ben was learning. Maybe he shouldn’t say so much stuff. “It’s okay, it was for you,” Ben reminded him. He held out his toothbrush. “I only have one, but we can share.”

Carlos stared at it. Then he reached out and took it, very slowly. Then he stared at it some more.

Ben frowned at him. “... It’s a toothbrush.”

Carlos still looked confused. 

“You don’t know how to brush your  _ teeth _ ?”

When Carlos still looked confused, Ben scratched his head.

“Um… okay, come here. I can teach you. It’s easy!”

Ben knew Carlos was little, but he didn’t think six was  _ that _ little. Well, what did Ben know. He’d never met a six year old before. Or maybe Carlos’s mom still brushed his teeth for him. Ben knew his parents had done that for a while when he was little, so maybe Carlos just didn’t know how to do it himself yet.

“Here,” Ben brought him into the bathroom and put toothpaste on the brush and held it out again. “You just rub it against your teeth, all over.”

Frowning, Carlos made a face kind of like a smile but with his lips all pulled back, and he lifted up the toothbrush, looking at Ben to make sure that was right.

“Yeah!”

Carlos pulled the brush away and shook his head.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

Carlos shook his head again. 

Huffing, Ben threw his arms up in the air. “You gotta brush your teeth!” He said, trying to sound stern like his papa when Ben was being difficult. “If you don't your teeth get gross and then they rot out of your head!” Ben paused, thinking. “... Well, not your baby teeth. They fall out anyway. But the other teeth you gotta brush!”

Carlos wrinkled his nose when Ben mentioned rotting teeth, staring at the toothbrush for a moment, but he only shook his head again, hunching down.

Ben scowled at him, and then tried to stop scowling at him, because that seemed mean. “Why not?” He asked.

Carlos looked at him with his big dark eyes for a while before he opened up his mouth, really slow, and showed Ben that some of his teeth were missing.

“Oh!” Ben said, surprised. Your baby teeth are falling out!”

Carlos shook his head, though, and reached up to pull his cheek out of the way, and Ben leaned in closer to try and see what Carlos was showing him.

His gums looked all red and puffy like he had a booboo. The places where he was missing teeth were kinda… Wet-looking? Which was silly, because the whole inside of his mouth looked wet, but those parts looked wetter and shiny and dark. 

“... Oh,” Ben said. “Did you fall down?” He didn't know how Carlos might have gotten hurt like that, but it  _ looked _ like that was what happened. Like maybe he got hurt and banged his cheek off something, and it knocked out his baby teeth? And the bruise on his face healed but his mouth was still all hurt. Stuff like that happened to Ben a few times, he hurt his knee when he fell down once and couldn't walk for a few days and the bruise went away before the cut did.

Again, Carlos only shook his head, though. Ben eyed the toothbrush quietly.

“You could brush all the other parts, and not do that one?” He suggested. “Or I guess I could do it for you if you want me to, since I can see.”

Carlos had a frown on his little face. He was looking at the toothbrush, too. Finally he picked it back up, and went up on his toes to try and look in the mirror while he scrubbed at his front teeth. He made at face at the toothpaste flavor -- Ben didn't blame him, ugh -- and peered at Ben like he wanted to check he was doing it right.

Ben nodnodnodded and gave him a thumbs up. “Yeah! Okay, do you want me to stay in here or do you think you got it?”

Carlos scrubbed at his teeth at little more before he shrugged.

Ben shrugged back. “Okay. Spit it out and rinse your mouth with water when you’re done. You’re not s’posed to swallow it.” Then he turned and headed into his room to dig out his snake book.

He listened until he heard the water turn on and then off, and Carlos came padding out of the bathroom, twisting his lips over his teeth with a frown.

“Hey!” Ben called. “Come sit with me. Can you read?”

Shaking his head, Carlos came over and climbed up on the bed next to Ben, peering at the book with confusion on his face.

“That’s okay,” Ben told him. “Mama says I learned really young.” He pointed to the page, where a picture showed a chameleon standing half on a leaf and half of a rock, it’s body turning black and green. “This is a book about reptiles,” Ben explained. He put his finger on the page and closed the book, so Carlos could see the whole thing. The book was really big and green and had a bunch of pictures of different animals all over the cover. “It’s called  _ The Herpetologist’s Field Guide”  _ and it has a page on every species of reptile that’s ever been found! I wanna try to learn about the snake from last night.”

Carlos’s eyes got really big like they did a lot, and he sat up a little straighter, and at first Ben maybe thought that Carlos didn’t want to until he leaned over and started to reach for the book. His hand stopped over the cover, kind of freezing for a second before he pulled back, looking at Ben like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. 

Ben smiled at him really big and shuffled closer on the bed.

“There are three thousand six hundred known species of snakes in the world,” Ben quoted. “Of them, three hundred and seventy five are venomous, but most of them can’t poison humans. Some species are harder to poison than humans are, like Genies, and some are easier, like Dwarves.”

Ben flipped through the pages until he found the start of the snake section. “The snake that tried to eat us last night didn’t bite us, so it wasn’t venomous. It just wrapped all around us like a constrictor.”

Slowly, Ben flipped through each page, looking for a picture that looked like the same snake. The problem was that, while some snakes had cool markings or colors or something, a lot of snakes were brown and greenish and kind of spotted, so finding an exact match was really tricky. 

They sat in silence for a while, looking through the book, and Ben was starting to think maybe he missed it and would have to go back and look again when Carlos reached out and put his little finger on the page. Ben sat up straighter.

“Indian Rock Python,” he read out loud. “That looks like it!” He read through the short passage next to the picture, his excited smile slipping off his face while he did. “Oh, but this doesn’t say anything about eyes that make you fall asleep.” Ben sat back, rubbing his face. Actually, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember reading anything in any part of the book about an animal that could do that. 

Ben slumped down, feeling dejected. “... The snake really scared me,” He said, after a long minute of being quiet. The picture in the book didn’t look nearly as big or as mean as the snake from last night. “Heroes go on adventures all the time, and they fight monsters and they’re brave, but I was really scared.” He curled over on himself, remembering how Carlos looked in the firelight, with his little face all grim and frowning. He was really brave, and he saved Ben’s life. Maybe Carlos could be a hero.

“I don’t think I want to go on adventures anymore.”

Carlos didn’t say anything, of course. For a while it was just them breathing in the room, the wind outside the window, and nothing else but silence, and then one of Carlos’s little hands landed on Ben’s head.

Ben looked up, startled. Carlos looked back at him with his big, dark eyes. His hand moved a tiny bit, like he was ruffling up Ben’s hair like Mr. Horace. 

“... Thanks,” Ben said. Carlos only nodded, and kept petting him until Ben sat up. 

They looked through the book a little while longer, until they’d gone through every snake page and ruled them all out. While Ben was putting it back down on the side of his bed, he saw the rest of the books in his room and said “Hey, do you know Charles Dickens?”

Carlos shook his head, and Ben gave him a big smile and grabbed the book and climbed up next to him on the bed. “I’ll read to you!” He said, scooting back so he was leaning against the pillows. He patted the bed for Carlos to come lie down next to him, like Ben does when his mom is the one reading. It took him a minute, but Carlos finally did, and Ben opened up to page one even though he was actually half way through the book already, and started to read.

_ “ _ _ My father's family name being Pirrip, and my christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.” _

 

Ben read until the ache of his stomach told him lunch would be soon, and Carlos would have to hide again, and Carlos spent the whole time curled up at Ben’s side, looking at the pages with his big, dark eyes. When Ben finally stopped, Carlos blinked, and looked up at him with a little frown. 

“You gotta hide again,” Ben told him. “My parents are gonna come get me soon.”

Carlos’s shoulders slumped sadly. Ben reached over to pat his head. “It’s okay! I’ll keep reading after if you want me to?” Carlos nodded and nodded, and Ben laughed. 

Lunch came and went, and Ben again stuffed his food in his pockets (careful to keep it all wrapped in the napkin this time) and told his parents he wanted to go read, and they sent him off upstairs after he helped clear the table.

He didn’t have as much food for Carlos this time, because he didn’t eat breakfast and he was hungry, but he saved about half, so he figured that was okay.

After he ate, Carlos curled up next to Ben, and Ben kept reading. It was really nice, reading out loud to somebody. Now he knew why his mom liked it so much.

They spent the rest of the day like that, with Ben reading quietly to Carlos while he lay down next to him, curled up in a little ball on Ben’s side. Ben took another break for dinner, and then kept reading.

That night, after his mama and papa had tucked him in and said good night and made Ben promise he would go to sleep and not stay up late reading even more, Ben went and got Carlos from the closet, and this time after he’d brushed his teeth Carlos crawled right into bed next to Ben, and put his head down, and went to sleep.

Ben woke up the next morning with Carlos curled up small and kind of lying on top of him. He gave him a shake, and then another shake, and Carlos sat up really fast like he had the day before. Ben wasn’t very worried this time, though, he figured maybe Carlos just wasn’t a morning person. 

After breakfast, Ben got changed and this time so did Carlos, since he’d be leaving that night. Ben’s parents had frowned at him and asked if he wanted to come read with one of them when he said he wanted to stay in his room again that day, so he thought maybe he should play with them after lunch so they didn’t come in and catch Carlos. That meant Ben would have to leave Carlos all alone for a few hours, so he dug out his notebook and a pencil and decided he was gonna teach Carlos how to read. He wouldn’t learn all in one day, but it could be a start! 

Ben didn’t really remember how his parents had taught him, but he knew he should start with just the letters, so he did. He didn’t try to get Carlos to say them, he just showed him how to write them and read them and what sounds they all made, and then he left Carlos to practice his alphabet while Ben ran around downstairs and got chased by his dad and hid behind his mom’s skirt while she laughed at them both.

When Ben was finally allowed to go back upstairs again, it was after dinner. Ben had almost all of it stuffed in his pockets, because he felt bad that Carlos had to skip lunch. When he got back into his room, Carlos was still sitting on the bed, frowning at Ben’s notebook. Only, he had the snake book open, too, and he jumped and looked at Ben with wide eyes when he opened the door.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked, curious. Be climbed up on the bed and looked down at the books to try and see, because he knew, by now, that Carlos wouldn’t answer him in words. 

The Herpetologist’s Field Guide was open to the part on snakes; one of the pages Ben read to Carlos earlier. Ben’s notebook had been turned to a new page. Instead of practicing letters, Carlos was writing… words. They were random and his hand writing was bad, but Carlos wrote “Fang” and “Scales” and other words from the book.

“Oh!” Ben said, surprised. “That’s a good idea to learn how to write. Do you know what words you did?”

That felt like a silly question, because Carlos couldn’t read, so Ben was very surprised when Carlos nodded.

“You do?” Ben leaned back on his heels in confusion. “How?”

Carlos pointed to the word Fang, and to his own teeth, and to the picture of the snake -- a rearing Copperhead with venom dripping from its fangs -- and then back at the word. 

Blinking, Ben leaned forward again. “That's right!” He said, impressed. “But how did you know that?”

Frowning, Carlos put his hands in his lap for a moment. Ben didn’t say anything, because Carlos looked like he was thinking really hard about something, and he didn’t want to be rude. When Carlos sat up again, he put his finger to the word Fang in the book, and took a deep breath.

_ “ _ Ffff,” He said, very quietly. “Aahh, Nnn, guh.” He pointed to each letter as he said them. “F is  _ ffff _ and a is  _ aaahh _ and n is  _ nnnn _ and g  _ guh _ . Fang.”

It probably wasn’t very nice of Ben, but he was so caught off guard he jumped off the bed and said “You can  _ talk?! _ ” maybe louder than he needed to.

Carlos had surprised Ben, so it was probably fair that Ben surprised Carlos, too, and he jumped and flinched a little. Ben still felt bad about it, though, so he sat down again really quick.

“Sorry,” He said, much quieter. Carlos was a tight little ball all curled in on himself like a pillbug, peering at Ben with his dark eyes. “I didn’t know you could talk.” As soon as he said it, Ben remembered what Mr. Horace had told him. Carlos hasn’t spoken in weeks, which meant he  _ could _ talk, he just… didn’t. 

Carlos was uncurling from his ball really slowly, but once he was sitting back up he seemed a little better. Ben smiled at him really big and said “sorry” again.

He only shrugged, but Ben thought that meant he was forgiven. “So. You can talk?”

Carlos nodded.

“But you don’t… like to?”

Carlos shrugged.

“Okay,” Ben said, and decided it didn’t matter. They had been getting along just fine without Carlos talking. If he didn’t want to, he didn’t need to. Ben even kind of liked how quiet he was, it was really, really nice to be able to sit and read with a friend. “Oh! But you sounded out the letters, that’s how you knew what the word was, right?”

This time when Carlos nodded, he looked a little happier about it.

“Wow.” Was all Ben could say. “You’re really smart! You learned in one day!” Ben knew he hadn’t learned in one day. His mama said all the time how fast Ben learned how to read, but it still took him a while!

Carlos shrugged again, but his cheeks were kind of pink and he wasn’t looking at Ben, so Ben thought he was happy to be called smart.

They decided to keep reading  _ Great Expectations _ , after Ben gave Carlos the food he’d brought him for dinner, and this time Ben went really slow and pointed at the words as he said them, so Carlos could hear what they sounded like. Carlos stared at the pages like he had before. Ben wondered if Carlos was learning even before Ben taught him the letters. 

Ben’s parents come a few hours later and tuck him in for bed, and when they leave Carlos lies down next to him. They sleep, but not for long.

Hours later, after his parents had gone to bed, Ben slipped down the hallway with Carlos behind him. The house was always pitch dark at night -- Ben never wanted to risk lighting a candle while he was still inside -- but he knew where the creaky stair was and stuff, so he kept a hold on Carlos’s hand and whispered to him softly, telling him where to turn and when to stop and wait and listen. 

In the kitchen, Ben grabbed a knife.

He couldn’t hold the knife, and the candle, and Carlos’s hand at the same time, so Carlos held the candle instead, and they crept out the front doors and made their way through the woods, fingers laced together tight enough to ache.

They didn’t see the snake on the walk to meet up with Horace, and Ben wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or scared. When they finally made it to the treeline and the light of the city spilled out onto the path, Ben decided on relieved. 

Horace was waiting for them where he always was, at the trashcan fire with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t have Jace or Harold with him, and Ben was kind of sad about that, but Mr. Horace saw them coming out of the trees and rushed over with a big smile and pulled them both into a hug. His coat smelled kind of funny, like metal and cold and smoke, but Ben pushed his face against Mr. Horace’s scarf and hugged him back anyway. Ben liked Mr. Horace a lot, he decided. 

“Oh, I been fretting myself bald these past two days,” Horace said when he let them go. “But look at the two of you! Right as right, aren’t you both?” To Ben, Horace said, “You did me a great favor, lad, and I appreciate it more’n words could tell.” He picked up a bag off the ground and handed it over to Ben with a smile.

The bag was heavy, and it made clunking sounds when he moved it. Curious, Ben peeked inside.

“It’s not much,” Mr. Horace said. “But it’s honest pay for an honest task, and it’s all I’ve got to give.”

The bag was full of food. Cans and cans and cans, vegetables and meat and fruit, soups and jars of peanut butter. Some of them didn’t have labels on them, and they were dented and rusty-looking, but they didn’t have any cracks, so the food inside was still good.

Horace said something else, but Ben could barely hear it over his own thundering heart. It sounded like “Thank you.”

Ben drew in a sharp breath. “I, wait, so…” He stopped, started again. “If I do jobs, for you, or. For other people. For somebody. If I work, they’ll give me food?”

Mr. Horace looked at Ben kind of funny, his big bushy eyebrows drawing down over his eyes, but he nodded. “Aye, if that’s what you ask to be paid in. Most get somethin’ else, but I know plenty who work for a full belly.

His heart was beating so hard it hurt. Ben clutched the bag close to his chest and stepped closer, nodding and nodding. “Can I do more jobs for you?” He asked. “Do you know anybody else who needs something?” 

Mr. Horace was starting to look kind of freaked out, but Ben had  _ food _ in his hands -- enough for  _ weeks _ , maybe more, enough for his parents to actually eat all three meals like they used to when he was little, and all he had to do was hide Carlos for two days?

How much more food could he get, if he did something bigger?

“Now, Ben,” Mr. Horace was saying, but Ben shook his head and shook his head and pushed closer.

“I’m smart,” He said, louder than he meant to. “And I learn fast and I work hard.” Ben remembered how quickly Carlos had figured out reading, and felt himself falter, but he pushed on. “And I’m strong, I help around the house a lot, and I can clean, and --”

“Ben!” Horace put a hand over his mouth. Ben went quiet with a gasp. “Child, breathe, now. Tell me why you need t’ work so hard, hm? Thought you had parents what took care of you.”

“We don’t have enough food,” Ben said, once Mr. Horace had moved his hand. “They can’t get a lot, it’s dangerous, they get hurt when they go out and then they don’t eat because they need to feed me and when I asked if I could help they told me no and wouldn’t listen and I started sneaking out to try to find food but I didn’t know how and then I met you and you asked me to watch Carlos and now you gave me food and I need to find a job so I can get more.”

Mr. Horace stared at Ben for a long minute. Then he raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his big nose like he had a headache. “... Right,” He said, really quiet like he was talking to himself. “Right, ‘course, that’s… well.” He moved his hand, took a deep breath, and gave Ben a steady look. “Times is hard here for everybody, aren’t they? You’ve a good heart, lad. I may know a bloke or two who could use an extra set of hands, but I can’t promise anything. Alright?”

Ben nodded so hard he felt himself go dizzy. “Yes. Thank you so much, Mr. Horace.”

Horace just sighed again. He ruffled up Ben’s hair with one big hand, and finally stepped away. “Right, then. You get that home safe now, ‘fore someone sees and takes it from you.”

Ben clutched his bag tight against his chest, until the edges of the cans felt like they were bruising him even through his jacket. “Okay. Goodnight, Mr. Horace.” He loosened up his grip a little when he turned to face Carlos, though, because Carlos was his friend now and Ben wanted to say goodbye properly. He didn’t know when they’d get to hang out again. 

With one arm wrapped in a death grip around his bag, Ben reached out the other and pet Carlos’s curly hair. “Goodnight, Carlos.”

Carlos took Mr. Horace’s hand and waved at Ben with the other. “Goodnight, Ben.”

The surprised, happy look on Mr. Horace’s face when he looked at Carlos was the last thing Ben saw, before he turned around and headed for the trees at a run, pulling his bag over his shoulders as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was... difficult for me to write, for a number of reasons. Cameron's passing made a writing something so Carlos-centric difficult. I'd like to say we'll get back to posting every third, but don't take my word on that. At any note, hopefully things should pick back up now that this is finally posted.
> 
> Thank you all very much for being so patient.


	7. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spite, that great motivator.

Present Day

 

He doesn’t really remember going to his knees, but he’s there, now, feverish and disoriented, taking shaking gulps of humid air like he'd been drowning. His gang keeps fiddling around, cleaning his injuries with burning alcohol and sealing and bandaging, handing him a small glass bottle with Yzla's icon on it and urging him to drink, but the second wave of adrenaline hits Ben like a baseball bat to the head, and he doesn’t really have much awareness of what’s going on around him.  
  
It's not the most painful thing Ben has ever experienced, but goddamn it’s close. His skin got _ripped off_. It's a lot to process. But he knows that there are bodies closed around him, holding rank and watching him, letting him have his moment of vulnerability away from the prying eyes of potential enemies. He knows, over the dull, hazy pain and disorientation, that he is safe.  
  
Yzla’s drugs are good shit, and they work fast, and the awful fog slowly clears from Ben’s head, leaving him achy and shaking, but able to think clearly. “Fuck,” He slurs. “That’s gonna be so ugly when it scars.”  
  
Giselle and Harold offer their hands to help him stand. Laughing, Miles punches Ben in the shoulder very, very gently.  
  
“Ask Evie for some of her scar cream,” Mal says, her voice tart. All at once, Ben feels his stomach drop.  
  
Oh, yeah, that was really impressive of him, almost passing out right there in the middle of the festival. He sure did show off how tough and capable he is.  
  
“Hah, yeah…” Ben tries to smile, but he knows he looks awful. Damnit, and right after he did okay in his fight with Harry. How is he gonna dig himself out of this one?  
  
A hand lands on his head, and Ben looks up, startled. Mal is peering up at him, smirking, and her eyes so, so green. She moves her hand, just once, like she’s ruffling his hair. Then she’s stepping away again. “You done for the night?”  
  
“Uh, n-no,” Ben stutters out. “I can stay. I’m fine.”  
  
Mal nods at him, then she glances around at their little group. “So, games?”  
  
While they make their way as a group to the gaming booths, Ben takes the bottle of moonshine from Harold and swishes a gulp around in his mouth, spitting out the blood and bile still coating his teeth. It’s gonna be a pain in the ass cleaning his fangs later tonight, but that’s a problem for future Ben to deal with.  
  
Content to hang at the back of the group and just breathe for a bit, Ben watches as everyone else does their things.  
Darcy is manning the knife-throwing booth, and she flutters her eyelashes at Ben when she sees him, but gets distracted by Jace stepping up to play. Round one is eight daggers with a stationary target. Round two, the target moves, and round three, the knives are switched out for a set of wonky daggers, all of them purposely unbalanced to screw with accuracy. By the time he’s done showing off, Jace has a dozen bullseyes under his belt and is leaning on the bar to flirt heavily with Darcy, returning her fluttering eyelashes with his own suggestive stares.  
  
Harold has to drag him away by the arm, but they move on all the same.  
  
Gizelle shows off her own accuracy skills at the Block & Parry booth, hefting the metal bat in her hands like it weighs nothing, knocking solid wooden baseballs as they’re launched at her from three different machines. The hourglass counts down ten minutes of her relentlessly defending herself, and by the time her turn is up she has a collection of awful welts and almost-broken bones, but she also has the highest score for the night so far. Ben and Miles both grab one of her hands and lift them into the air, cheering for her.  
Harold wins against another henchman kid in a trivia game, naming vulnerable pressure points in the human body and correctly guessing how three different shanks were made just by touch. The kid goes off fuming, and Harold ducks his head at the shower of praise he gets from his gang, smiling small and pleased.  
  
Miles darts around like a ping-pong ball to a bunch of different booths before he settles on the Drowning Man. He’s nothing if not predictable, but Ben still cheers him on anyway as Miles dives repeatedly to the bottom of the murky tank, trying to pick the locks and solve the puzzles before time runs out. It’s impossible to do if you can’t hold your breath for very long, and the locks are designed with lots of spring-loaded pieces that pinch and snap slow fingers, but Miles manages it with a whole minute to spare and only one nail ripped off, only coming up for air twice.  
  
While Miles puts his clothes back on his lanky body and gets his finger patched, Ben notices Mal looking around thoughtfully, and he makes his way over to her. “Debating how you want to show everybody up?” He asks.  
  
She glances at him with a raised eyebrow, her lips quirking. “Maybe I’m just trying to decide if any of this crap is worth my time.”  
  
“... I guess that depends on your definition,” Ben muses. At Mal’s look, he elaborates. “Most of the people here are trying to prove themselves -- sure, some are just having fun or showing off, but there’s a reason everybody is trying so hard to break records. Everyone wants to be known for something. But everyone on the isle already knows you, they fear and respect you, so you winning these games seems… kind of redundant?” He tilts his head to one side, trying to find the words. “I don’t think it’s pointless or anything. It’s great that you’re out here having fun with us, I just...” He gestures, a little pathetically. Maybe he shouldn’t say this. “I just want to be sure that you _are_ having fun, and not doing something you’d rather not because you feel like you need to do it.”  
  
Mal hums, noncommittally. She’s so hard to read sometimes, he can’t tell if he offended her or not. At least she doesn’t seem angry with him?  
  
“How’s your back?”  
  
Ben rolls his shoulders, testing. “Numb.”  
  
Mal nods. “You going home tonight?”  
  
“Uh, no,” He stutters. “I thought I’d stay at the den. Why?”  
  
Instead of answering him, Mal turns to check if Miles is decent yet. Seeing that he is, she whistles for the gang to regroup, and starts to walk away. “Have Evie check in on you before you go to bed,” She calls over her shoulder. Ben is left blinking at her in silent bafflement.  
  
Mal moves between the stalls idly, dismissing game after game and challenge after challenge, seemingly looking for something particular. When they reach it, Ben pulls up short, his jaw dropping.  
  
She isn’t serious, is she?  
  
… She is. Mal shoves her way through the crowd in front of The Masochist, cutting in line -- not that there’s much of a line to speak of -- and walking onto the stage like she belongs there.  
  
Bruna Stabington laughs to see her, clapping idly at the sight. “Well, there’s a hell of a challenger!” She calls to the gathered crowd. “Any of you spineless little shits wanna test your mettle against the Heiress of all Evil? Anybody at all?”  
  
For a moment, Ben thinks nobody will have the guts to step up. He isn’t sure if he’s more relieved or disappointed on Mal’s behalf.  
  
Then the crowd parts, and Harriet Hook steps onto the stage.  
  
Two in one night, is all Ben can think as she dramatically tosses off her coat and strides over to one of the stools. The scars on her face are very vivid in the flashing neon lights of the festival. Ben feels his stomach curdle.  
  
Mal, as always, seems unruffled. She takes the seat opposite Harriet’s, and neither says a word. They aren’t rivals, really -- Harriet’s territory is too far away from Mal’s for them to really clash, but Harriet has been very loud about how much she hates Mal anyway, for taking over her reputation as the most feared kid on the isle. If looks could kill, they’d both be corpses, propped up on their barstools.  
Bruna makes a big show of getting them both set up, hyping up the crowd. The machine in the center of the stage whirs and flashes, not yet on but lit-up all the same. A shower of sparks, more for show than anything else, fills the air with the scent of ozone and burning things.  
  
On Bruna’s request, Mal and Harriet hold out their arms.  
  
“Shall we begin?”  
  
Two needles each. The thick metal pins are easily the length of Ben’s palm, and they get sunk into each girls’ forearms right below the elbow bend. Neither of them so much as blink.  
  
Then comes the first wire, wrapped around the base of each needle, creating a complete circuit through the body and back out again.  
Then comes the electricity.  
  
The machine powers on when Bruna flips the switch with a flourish, a high whine filling the air. Ben can see the muscles in Mal’s arms clench and spasm painfully as she’s electrocuted, but Mal doesn’t wince. Neither does Harriet.  
  
“Level one,” Bruna cheers to the crowd. “Looks like both our girlies are stone-faced, though. Maybe we’re going too easy on such tough cookies!”  
  
Before Ben can really process what that means, the lever on the machine is clicked up twice.  
  
This time, Mal winces. Ben can see her jaw work as she clenches her teeth. At least Harriet looks just as uncomfortable.  
  
“Level three!” Bruna cheers. “They’re doing great. Let’s give ‘em more juice!”  
  
Level four comes with Mal’s whole body going impossibly tense, her her eyes screwing shut. By level five, she and Harriet are both trembling in their seats, sweating and writhing in pain. The air stinks like electrical smoke.  
  
The machine gets turned off for a moment, cutting off the electrical current. But only for a moment, because level six comes with two more needles.  
  
Ben can smell burning -- can see it, too, as Mal’s skin blackens around the pins driven into her. The pain has her hunched over, trying to clutch at something to stabilize herself, but with the electricity forcing her muscles to contract she can’t get a grip on anything.  
Level seven, the smell gets worse. Ben can see the veins in Mal’s face and arms straining against her pale skin, blood vessels rupturing and muscles clenching hard enough she might actually wrench her own limbs out of socket. Harriet is in the same boat, both of them writhing in agony and too stubborn to yield.  
  
The whole time, neither one of them makes a sound.  
  
(Ben tries to pretend the sight of Mal sweating and squirming doesn't do things to him. He knows she’s in pain, but that… kind of only turns him on more, if he’s being honest. She’s so strong and so resilient, she can endure so much. She’s amazing. She’s terrifying. Ben can barely breathe, seeing how powerful she is.)  
  
“I think I speak for all of us when I say holy fucking shit,” Bruna calls to the crowd. “Look at them go! Only three clicks left until level ten. Will one of these loveless ladies finally be the one to make it all the way to the top? What do you guys think?”  
Nobody dares to cry out against either Mal or Harriet. Still, nobody has ever made it to level ten.  
  
Apparently unsatisfied with the quiet discomfort of the audience, Bruna makes a big show of reaching for the lever again. “Although,” She drawls. Something in her voice sounds off. Ben tenses, his breath catching. “Since these are the two baddest babes on the isle,” She says, “And since they’re both taking it like champs, maybe we should skip right to it?”

Before anyone has a chance to react to that, Bruna pushes the lever.  
  
Level nine comes in the form of bursting blood vessels and burning flesh. Mal’s eyes roll up, her jaw locked, her nose bleeding from the pressure. Her chest is heaving, and it takes Ben a second to realize it isn’t just the muscle contractions anymore. She can’t breathe, her heart and lungs are locking up and she’s struggling for air, she’s gonna die right there on stage, Ben has never seen her die before --  
  
Harriet screams.  
  
And screams, and screams. Bruna hasn’t turned off the machine, even though Mal fucking won, and Ben and the others are already shoving through the crowd by the time she realizes that this is not the gang to play these games with.  
  
When the lever clicks off, Mal goes still, collapsed on the stage and heaving for breath through her clenched teeth.  
  
“Well,” Bruna chirps, trying for charming as Ben and the others storm the stage. “That was a truly impressive show! Let’s all hear it for Mal, everybody!”  
  
The crowd cheers, but Ben is more concerned with pulling the pins out of Mal’s blackened forearms. She isn’t unconscious, but the pain has her dazed and dizzy. Harold is already cleaning and bandaging her injuries, and Ben would pick her up if he didn’t know she’d cut him for it. Like they did for him, the gang forms a wall around their leader. Bruna is glared off her own stage, and Ben stays on his knees beside Mal, trying not to hover but unwilling to keep his distance.  
  
Mal recovers before Harriet does, by only maybe a minute. She groans, eyes clearing as she blinks her way back to lucidity. Her skin is paler than normal, her eyes red and bloodshot like hell, but she looks up with a little jagged slice of a smile at everyone, proud of herself. Besotted, Ben grins back.  
  
“Holy shit, boss,” Gizelle says. The general consensus of the gang is that pretty much covers it.  
  
Mal uses Ben’s shoulder to help herself to her feet, swaying once before she stabilizes. She’s still breathing hard, but Ben and the others all know better than to try and help her walk off the stage. She manages fine by herself anyway, and they troup after her like good little henchmen. When they reach another bench, Mal plops herself down into it, leaning her head back and letting herself rest. The first words out of her mouth are “Holy fuck, I’m thirsty.”  
  
Laughing, Ben goes scurrying off to buy her a drink.  
  
When he comes back, he settles onto the bench beside her, handing her the bottle which she takes with a shaking hand. Too shaky, actually. She can barely hold it, much less sip, and on instinct Ben reaches out to stabilize her. It must be a testament to how exhausted she is from the game that she lets him.  
  
Mal’s hand feels very small in his. Dragon scales are almost impossible to cut with anything less than mithril (or very, very enchanted steel) but trapped on the Isle and in her human form, Mal’s skin is as fragile as anyone else’s. Ben could cut her with his claws if he isn’t careful.  
  
She’s fever-hot from the game, and the tiny muscles in her hand feel weakened and stiff. Ben can almost feel her pulse through her skin.  
Together they raise the bottle to Mal’s lips. She drinks, her throat working, her eyes closed, and Ben does everything he can to hold her steady. Water still drips from the corners of her mouth, clearing away some of the blood on her face. It pools in her collarbones, the hollow of her throat. Her neckline is already soaked in sweat, and the water leaves her shirt plastered to her chest. Ben’s own throat is suddenly very dry.  
  
When Mal is done, Ben helps her lower the bottle, then goes the extra mile and takes it out of her hand. Mal is still breathing too heavy, but she’s visibly pulling herself together. The gang waits until she’s ready.  
  
Once she is, Mal stands on slightly-unsteady legs and stretches all the tension and cramps out of her abused body, back arching, fingers splayed where her arms rise high over her head. Ben stares firmly at his feet.  
  
That only takes a few minutes though, at least. When she’s done, Mal gives herself one last shake, and flashes a grin at everybody, baring her teeth. Helplessly, Ben grins back.  
  
“Time?” Mal asks, glancing around. Jace peers at his watch.  
  
“Almost midnight.”  
  
Mal nods. “My turn to check on Evie. Who’s staying?”  
  
“I’ll go with you,” Ben is quick to answer. Mal only nods at him as he scrambles to his feet, and they head off together into the festival.(Ben ignores the snickers of his gang. He’s _not_ that transparent.)  
  
They walk in silence for a while, Ben just enjoying Mal’s company. Around them, people are testing their mettle at game booths or stumbling drunk and high down the narrow paths between stalls. They pass a Hun kid sitting at a kiosk, diligently sewing ink under the skin of a customer with their needle brush. A couple stalls down someone advertises clean, sterile piercings, which is a crock of shit, since the booth right next to it is doing scarification and branding, and the bloody trails leading out of their tent basically makes the whole damn area contaminated. The air smells like burning meat. Ben thinks of Mal’s arms and almost gags.  
  
In the last couple hours, the rest of the performers have finished setting up, and there are people hanging from the scaffolding over the crowd by hooks in their skin, and kids showing off their athleticism on the aerial ropes, swinging across the ramparts. (He’s heard that real Auradon acrobats use silk. Ben’s mom has a few scraps of gold silk tucked away under her bed. The material is slippery-smooth and fragile, and basically useless as far as Ben can tell. He doesn't know why she keeps it.)  
  
The crowd in front of the stage has nearly doubled in size. The Bad Apples must have finished their set, because there’s a cluster of pirates performing hard rock sea shanties for the drunken masses. Ben cranes his head over the gyrating bodies in search of a familiar face, and spots Jay on one of the smaller platforms around the area, bellydancing. There’s a group of fire dancers behind him, and the light from their torches caches on the shining coins around his hips, turns the sweat on his skin into a layer of molten gold over sinuous muscle. He has his own small crowd of admirers, clustered around his stage and getting their rocks off to the show. A little ways away, Yzla is giving Hadie a sloppy lapdance.  
  
“At least they’re enjoying themselves,” Mal huffs. Laughing, Ben can’t help but agree.  
  
Away from the crowd, the games, and the stalls for shoddy body mods, the Devil’s Road is littered with small shops and kiosks selling food and drink -- and other things. Evie is still right where they left her, in her shiny black stall next to Freddie Facilier’s. There’s a pretty big difference between then and now, though, which is that almost every single one of her shelves are empty.  
Ben is already grinning by the time they reach her. Evie hands some Orphan girl a bracelet, takes her money, and turns to smile at Mal and Ben with her eyes brighter than all the neon lights at the festival.  
  
Before Ben can say anything, Mal is already leaning on the stall, smiling proudly. “Well done,” She says. Evie looks about ready to faint. Ben can fully understand.

“You did great,” He’s quick to tell her, cutting in front of the rest of her customers. Unfortunately that puts his face in the low light, and Evie’s expression goes from thrilled to worried in about half a second.  
  
“Ben!” She gasps. “What happened? Do you need --”  
  
“I’m fine, princess,” He reassures her. “I got in the pit with Harry Hook, but I won.”  
  
“He did.” Mal’s glances at him out of the corner of her eye, then focuses back on Evie. “But he lost half the skin on his back in the process.”  
  
Evie’s face only grows more concerned. Ben winces. “I’m fine, really,” he says. “I took some of Yzla’s drugs and Harold patched me up. It’ll keep me on my feet for the rest of the night, at least.”  
  
“I want to look you over when we get to the den,” Evie says firmly. 

Mal nods like she’s agreeing for him. Ben makes a big show of pouting, but he’s already under orders from Mal and besides, they all know he can’t say no to Evie.  
  
“Alright, Eves. Whatever you want.”  
  
Evie turns her nose primly into the air, and Ben grins at her. Beside him, Mal rolls her eyes, but there’s an amused twitch to the corners of her mouth. It makes his heart flutter.  
  
They talk with Evie for a while longer -- nobody’s given her any trouble, and everyone else has already taken their turns to check on her. She’ll come join the rest of the party when the last of her wares are sold. Ben absolutely beams at her when she says that, so proud he might have swallowed the sun. She’s almost sold out. Ben wonders what she’ll spend all that money on.  
Eventually he and Mal have to go or risk chasing off some of Evie’s customers, which neither of them could bare to do, especially not when she’s glowing with pride for herself. (Eat your heart out, Grimhilde.)  
  
They pop over to Freddie’s booth and talk idly while Mal buys a bottle of absinthe, then continue on their way through the festival.  
Mal drawls, “Where to next?”  
  
Ben startles. “Oh, uh. To be honest, I think I want to go sit somewhere?”  
  
Mal quirks her eyebrow at him. “Done with the crowds, huh?” When Ben nods, she huffs a quiet laugh. “I feel you. Fucking vultures.”  
“I always forget how much you don’t like people,” Ben finds himself saying. Mal only rolls her eyes at him.  
  
The silence they share is comfortable, and Ben finds himself enjoying the quiet walk almost more than he’s enjoyed anything else tonight. Granted, quiet might be a relative term -- he can still hear the screaming and celebrating of the rest of the festival-goers -- but there’s a peace to Mal that strikes him. They pass the bottle back and forth as they make their way to the stage, and Ben catches Mal looking at her arms more than once with a pleased little smile on her face.  
  
He wonders at that. It’s probably because she beat Harriet, or maybe she’s proud of herself for enduring so much pain, but neither of those explanations feel quite right. Ben’s own recent injuries throb on his back. He knows he never could have won that game.  
  
They end up at one of the rickety tables around the edge of the crowd, sitting quietly and watching the masses. Some of the faces Ben knows well -- Gil in one corner dancing with Jonah and Bonny, Anthony Tremaine perched at his own table a bit away, watching with sharp eyes as his sister flirts with Alim Aghoul, which is not a match Ben would have seen coming.  
  
Over the crowd, Jay is still dancing, and Ben watches and admires him for a minute, the way so many other people are, clustered around the foot of his stage and crying out for his attention. Jay ignores them all, his eyes closed as he moves with the music, running his fingers through his own hair. Ben wonders if he went over there, if Jay would dance with him. Ben isn’t great, but nobody would be paying attention to him anyway.  
  
He glances at Mal, happy to share his good mood, only to stop short at the stony expression on her face. Her eyes are trained a little ways away, past Jay’s erotic performance and settled on where Uma has Harry pressed against a wall, kissing him right there in the middle of Mayhem for everyone to see.  
  
“Hey!” A familiar voice calls, and Ben turns to see Carlos approaching with Edward, Claudine and Ginny. “Hear you two bested a couple Hooks.”  
  
Ah, so that’s already spreading around, then. Mal nods, holding out her forearms. “Harriet’s tougher than I thought, that hurt like a bitch.”  
  
“You still beat her, though,” Ginny mutters.  
  
Ben nods. “Yeah she did, Mal kicked ass.”  
  
“Naturally,” Edward sniffs, lowering himself into a chair. “And you?”  
  
“Oh,” Ben falters. “Uh, I almost bit a chunk out of his shoulder, but --”  
  
“Harry lost,” Mal says, like it’s that simple. “He tapped out when Ben got his teeth in him.”  
  
Ben wants to argue, bring up his back, but Mal sounds… proud. All he can bring himself to do is duck his head and smile.  
  
“Dude, awesome!” Carlos smiles at him. Silent as ever, Claudine nonetheless looks pleased.  
  
“Anyway, what have you four been up to?”  
  
“We’ve been sitting quietly and minding our own business,” Carlos says firmly. Ben can’t help but laugh.  
  
“You know, from anyone else, that would sound suspicious as hell.”  
  
They all chat for a bit until Evie shows up, flushed and grinning, to declare that she’s sold all of her goods. The showering of praise she receives has her fisting her hands in her skirt, her cheeks pretty pink. Moments later they’re rejoined by Jay, who throws his arm over Evie’s shoulder and pulls her close, grinning bright. “Everybody having fun?”  
  
They give him a rundown of what they’ve all done so far tonight, and Jay whistles low and sharp to see Mal’s arms and Ben’s back, which is steadily beginning to throb. He could take more of Yzla’s drugs, but that's always risky business. He might have to call it in early.  
Thankfully everyone else seems to be of a like mind. Evie isn't much one for dancing in huge crowds like this -- too many bad experiences with nasty drunk assholes -- and she isn't interested in any of the games, so there isn’t much left to the festival that actually appeals to her. Everyone else has just about done everything they wanted to.  
  
They all collectively decide to take another walk around and see if anyone wants to do anything else, and Ben passes silently by most of the games. He isn’t feeling up to most of the tests for strength and endurance just now, not with his back starting to ache again. He thinks he may just end up waiting while his gang does their stuff and then going to the den. That is, until he sees two familiar heads at a stall a little ways away.  
  
The Gaston twins are in line for The Shallow Grave.  
  
The game itself is simple; a thin wooden coffin gets chained shut, and the person inside gets buried five feet down. The wood is easy enough to break, but without much wiggle room it takes some real strength to get it to splinter. You could pry up the nails in the top corners, but that requires a lot of flexibility. Regardless of how you do it, once you get the coffin open, you have to untangle yourself from the chains and claw your way out of the dirt before you run out of air.  
  
Ben saunters over to watch. It’s hard to see, in the low light of the festival, but Three isn’t wearing his eyepatch tonight, leaving his scars open for everyone to see. Three sharp vertical lines over the gaping socket where his left eye used to be.  
He doesn't see Ben, which works just fine by him. He’d rather wait and watch, for now.  
  
“Alright!” Calls the host, as a last round’s contestants finish brushing themselves off. “Who’s up next? Come one, come all! It’s a good day to die!”  
  
The twins are next in line. They insist on being buried together, two chipboard coffins side-by-side and wrapped in heavy-duty chains. Five stage hands work to pour dirt over the coffins and stomp them down, and time starts with a piercing sound loud enough to be heard even underground.  
  
Admittedly, there isn't much to see for the people observing the game. All the interesting things happen under a couple feet of packed dirt. Ben waits and watches anyway, counting the seconds in his head. There’s enough air in one of the coffins for maybe ten minutes if you’re careful, but once it’s open you have to hold your breath however long it takes to get your head above the dirt.  
After a few minutes the gang must start to wonder where Ben wandered off to, because they start trickling in searching for him. When Jay comes sauntering over to prop his elbow on Ben’s shoulder and ask what’s up, Ben only taps the lines Anthony drew on his eye and nods to the burial ground.  
  
Jay grins, sharp and mean. “Hoping they stay down there?”  
  
Ben shrugs. “Maybe.”  
  
Five minutes. Seven. Ten. The dirt on top of one coffin starts to tremble and dome upwards, then the one beside it. As one, the twins crawl out from their would-be graves.  
It’s the shortest time for the night, according to the chalkboard set up nearby. The Gaston twins shout and pump their fists to the cheering of the crowd.  
  
“Mediocre,” Ben drawls.  
  
Jay snorts, shaking his head. “You gonna show ‘em how it’s done?”  
  
… Hm. Honestly, Ben’s back hurts like a bitch, and he isn't sure he’s up to any more rigorous physical activity tonight. If he were more of a social butterfly he might have been happy to join the dancing and drinking, but he isn't incredibly fond of crowds and he’d been so focused on trying to get Mal’s attention that he’d jumped right into the deep end without any warmup, and now he’s feeling it through pretty much his whole body. He kind of wants to just go to the den and lie down.  
  
He’s opening his mouth to say as much when he notices Gaston Jr looking right at him. A second later, Three catches on and turns to look as well, both of them glaring venomously.  
  
If looks could kill…  
  
Well, he can't walk away now. Ben fixes his face into his sweetest, most polite smile, and raises a hand to wave as he steps forward.  
For a moment, Junior steps up as well, and Ben braces himself for a fight. But Three puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder and hauls him back, leaning in to murmur something short and frantic in his ear.  
  
With one last ugly look at Ben, they both go slinking off like the cowards they are.  
  
Whatever.  
  
He puts on a show for the crowd as he steps into the light, arms outstretched and fangs bared. Immediately, the game host jumps at the chance to hype the audience, skipping right past the line of people waiting for their turns and gesturing Ben onto the field.  
  
“And in the wake of the twin hunters spectacular show of strength, the Beast himself has come to flirt with death! Will he show up our last contestants, or will he end up with his tail between his legs?”  
  
Ben rolls his eyes at the tail comment and mostly ignores the host. The same diggers from before haul away the broken coffins and quickly start setting up a new pit, and Ben glances at Jay while he waits, unsurprised to find that a few more members of their gang have come trickling in.  
  
Evie is fretting, from the looks of it, likely concerned about Ben’s injuries, but he shoots her a wink and a hopefully-reassuring smile. Honestly, the coffins are just chipboard. He can kick out the bottom and squirm through there, and then he won’t even have to deal with the chains. The ground has been dug up so many times tonight that no matter how hard they try to pack it down, it’ll be loose enough for Ben to claw his way out of. The whole thing should take him… Maybe six minutes? Eight, tops? The twins only took so long because their brainless asses decided to break out through the lids. He suspects most of their time was spent fighting with their chains.  
  
He’s eyeing the pile of broken coffins while he waits, when a commotion from near the main stage draws his attention. Idly, Ben turns to look, and --  
  
It’s dark.  
  
The lights and music from the stage have stopped, and the blackout is quickly rolling across the whole festival, plunging the Sleeping Mountain into darkness.  
  
Immediately Ben is stumbling for the last place he remembers seeing Evie and Jay. They’d had Mal and Ginny with them, she should be -- there, glowing green eyes lighting up the darkness, moving towards him just as quickly. A few streams of yellowed moonlight struggle their way through the cloud cover, but it isn't enough to actually see anything by, and there are bodies moving around Ben on all sides as people regroup and check on their allies.  
  
Lighters and flashlights come on one by one, gradually helping to illuminate the area. Ben reaches for the green eyes and the vague silhouettes around them. Hands take his, small and gloved.  
  
“The hell is going on?” Jay mutters. Under the pandemonium of the rest of the festival-goers, Ben can hear the click of coins as Jay digs through his pockets.  
  
“Power outage?” Evie suggests.  
  
Jay flicks his lighter on.  
  
Ben breathes easier, actually seeing them.  
  
“Carlos and the others were near the Flytrap,” Mal says. “We should meet them --”  
  
“Mal!”  
  
“Or… They can meet us,” Mal trails off.  
  
Lit by the glow of Claudine’s lighter and Hadie’s hair, the rest of their gang is quickly making their way across the festival grounds. Once he’s close enough, Carlos half-sprints to tuck himself back into their small circle, breathing slow and sharp. Ben reaches to run careful claws through his hair. Carlos leans into his touch. In the dark, like this, they can get away with it.

Ginny is clutching at Harold, who is in turn holding her close, and Miles is twitcher than usual where he stands next to Gizelle, eyes darting around at the moving shadows as other kids scurry past.  
  
There are a lot of reasons to be scared of the dark, on the isle.  
  
“I need to find Gil,” Gizelle says.  
  
In the flickering firelight, Mal nods. “Take Hadie and Jace, stay together. Come back when you’ve checked on him. We’ll be here.”  
  
“Is that a good idea?” Ben asks, shifting. He can hear other people talking if he strains his ears, and most of it sounds confused and inconvenienced -- it doesn’t seem like anybody has gotten hurt -- but that’s no guarantee that this won't get ugly. The whole island comes to Mayhem, big names and henchmen and Orphans with no clue who their parents were, and here they all are, stumbling cluelessly through the dark. “Shouldn’t we all go?”

It’s only the glow of Mal’s eyes that tells Ben she’s looking at him. “Gil will be with his crew,” She says. “If we all come creeping up on the pirates, Uma will assume we’re attacking.”

… Oh. Yeah, that’s a good point. “Right,” Ben answers, a little stupidly.

To Gizelle, Mal says “Go.”

Jay and Claudine hand over their lighters. Between that, and the pale blue glow of Hadie’s hair, they should have just enough light to see by. The three vanish into the dark.

Ben clutches fitfully at Evie’s hand.

“I wonder what caused it,” Carlos muses, still curled up between them all. He’s breathing a little too fast, but other than that, he seems mostly okay for now.

“Everything’s always broken on this damn island,” Edward sniffs. “Frankly, I’m only shocked this hasn’t happened before.”

“Betcha somebody took a piss on a generator,” Yzla says, laughing. “Hope they got fried.”

Around them, every shadow seems to move like something creeping closer. There are voices drifting by -- people talking to their gang members, friends calling out for each other to regroup. In the dark, it all seems so much more sinister. Ben counts heads -- Carlos’s curls tickle his wrist, Evie’s hand is clutched in his. Edward’s cane taps idly against the ground. Miles twitches and fidgets, Harold and Ginny are very still, but the heat of their bodies is close by. Claudine has pulled out another lighter and is holding it above her head. Yzla is still laughing, soft and nervous. Mal’s green eyes keep watch over all of them.

Ben flexes his claws and keeps his own eyes on the surrounding darkness.  
Over the sound of his own thundering heartbeat, Ben hears something. He dismisses it at first -- there are footsteps and voices all around him, it’s hard to determine one sound from another -- but it happens again, and then a third time. Something heavy being dragged across the ground, thunking over uneven pathways, carving through the dirt with a _shhhh_. Metal sounds, clanging, and --

The lights come on.

Ben nearly collapses to his knees in relief.

The air is split by a high, mechanical shriek before Diego’s voice echoes across the festival grounds. “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen!” He calls from somewhere near the stage. “Some drunk fuck dumped moonshine on one of our generators and the whole system went down. We’ve got it all taken care of with a backup and we’re watching the machines more closely to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Please, feel free to enjoy the rest of your night.”

Relief sweeps through the festival like a breath of fresh air. All around him, Ben feels his gang unwind and lets his own shoulders slump. With the suffocating press of darkness pushed away, they all carefully detangle from their frightened huddle.

Hosts and salespeople return to their stalls, trying to entice the crowds back to them, but a good chunk of attendees seem done for the night. A steady stream of people are walking away, weaving through the pathways to make their way back to the main roads. 

Ben considers following. Honestly, he was only gonna play the game to show up the twins, and he’s still straining for any sound of violence or a struggle. It would have been all too easy for someone to take advantage of the pandemonium that blackout caused, it’s really only dumb luck that none of Ben’s gang got jumped just now. 

By unspoken agreement, everyone waits, clumped together, until the others return. When they do, it’s in a cloud of pirates. Ben feels his hackles rise, but tries to push it down.

Gizelle has one of Gil’s arms slung over her shoulders, the two talking quietly to each other. Uma and Harry linger nearby, their eyes on their third in command. On Gizelle’s side, Hadie and Jace have put careful distance between themselves and Uma’s crew, but they’re both ready to jump in if the need arises. 

Not that it will, probably. Gizelle and Gil are a… special circumstance for both gangs. Enough so that Ben isn’t the only one who raises a hand, waving in greeting at Gil as he passes. Looking thrilled, Gil pauses to shout quick greetings, waving excitedly back.

“Man, that blackout was really scary, huh? I’m glad everybody’s okay. Hey, did you guys see --”

Uma’s hand lands heavy on Gil’s shoulder. “We’re leaving,” She tells him, not unkindly.

Gil’s shoulders slump. “Aww, okay. Bye, guys!”

Gizelle detangles herself from her brother, and the pirates trail off.

“... Yeah, I think I’m done,” Mal says into the empty space they leave behind. “Anybody got any reason we should stick around?”

A chorus of negatives answers her, but --

Ben feels eyes on the back of his neck.

When he turns, the Gaston twins are standing not too far from where he’d last seen them. With only each other to worry about or rely on, they were probably trying to make their way to the path when the lights went out, and instead stumbled back to the Shallow Grave.

The host is peering hopefully at Ben, next to the ditch they dug just for him.

Well, alright then. “I’ve got something I wanna do,” He tells Mal. “It won’t take long.”

She eyes him sharply, but when her gaze trails to the twins, her shoulders relax in understanding. “Fine,” She says, clipped. “We’ll be here.”

“Please be careful,” Evie tells him quietly.

Ben smiles at her, reaching up to trace one claw down her pale cheek. “Don’t worry,” He tells her. “This’ll be easy.”

He leaves his gang standing on the other side of the road, and lets himself be led to the coffin waiting for him. His back throbs all the way to bone, but he’ll be out and back at the den soon. Evie can give him something for the pain there.

The Gaston twins glare the whole time Ben walks toward the grave. He blows them both a kiss before he climbs in.

The sides of the coffin are cold and perfectly smooth against his bare arms. The lid closes over him, plunging him into darkness. Pins are slid into place, chains rattle. Ben feels himself lifted and lowered into the earth. The hollow sound of dirt hitting the lid.

The game host talks the crowd up. The dirt around him shifts as it’s stomped down.

The whistle blows.

Ben’s first kick is weak and awkward -- he can barely bend his knee, but he wiggles himself down farther and gets a better angle. There.

The second kick doesn’t do anything. The coffin makes a strange, hollow sound. Damn, the dirt was packed deeper than he thought. Whatever, he wasn’t expecting to get out of here in under a minute.

He kicks the bottom again, and again. Hard, and then harder, putting as much weight behind it as he can, stomping down on the coffin with enough force to leave himself winded.

It occurs to him, with a creeping sense that something is wrong, that thin, dinky chipboard should have started to splinter, by now. 

The sides of the coffin are cold and perfectly smooth against his arms.

Stretching, Ben digs his claws into the walls on either side of him, dragging them sharply -- a grating sound fills his ears, makes him flinch.

What the fuck.

Panicked fingers slide over the coffin walls, testing. He finds his own scratch marks, feels where a thin layer of wood chipped away to reveal metal underneath. 

What the _fuck_.

This time, Ben kicks the bottom hard enough he feels pain lace up his leg. He isn’t flexible enough to feel around very much, but he tries, searching for the edges of the coffin above his head. The seams where the walls meet are welded shut.

Okay. Okay. The top isn’t welded down. He can jiggle the pins and get it undone. He can climb his way out, he’ll be fine. If he can get the top two unscrewed he can jiggle the lid down some. The chains will be… problematic, but it’ll be fine. It’s fine.

It takes a lot of wiggling to get his arms up high enough to reach the first pin, and by the time he does he thinks he’s lost a couple layers of skin off his forearms from dragging them over the metal walls, but that seems like a theme for tonight, so Ben ignores the pain and the steadily-mounting panic and uses his claws to start picking at one of the pins.

It’s harder to get loose than he expected. His claws are too thin, he can’t get a grip on it, _damn_ everything.

More wiggling. Ben gets a hand up by his mouth. He has to turn his head to use his teeth, pulling on the chains keeping his claws in place. One finger comes loose. Another.

By the time Ben’s hand is free he’s panting, confusion and fear and the awkward ways he needs to contort his body in such a small space have him out of breath, and that realization feels like ice sliding down his spine.

He’s already been in this box for, what? Maybe eight minutes? More?

He’s running out of air.

For a moment, Ben is paralized. Fear demands he throw himself into trying to get out, thrash and squirm and tear at the pins until they come loose. Logic implores him to go slow, conserve oxygen, keep his heart rate low. They clash in the middle. Ben feels a whine tear it’s way out of his throat, trembling and weak.

The barrier heals a lot, when it comes to death. Any injury or illness that directly ends with your untimely demise gets patched right up when you come back. Some people claim you can cheat -- slit your own throat soon enough after losing a hand or breaking your spine and you’ll come back right as rain -- but they’re full of shit. The barrier’s magic ignores anything that isn’t immediately fatal.

It isn’t the dying that scares him. It’s the brain damage.

Ben’s heart thunders against his ribs like a panicked animal slamming itself against the bars of its cage. He tries to keep his breathing slow, but every third breath is a desperate gasp.

He gets his fingers around the pin, grips with his fingernails and twists. Dirt gets caught in the thread, sticks in the hole, makes it harder to turn. His fingers slip. He holds the pin tighter, until metal digs into his fingertips. Half a turn. Slip. Half a turn.

On the next turn his grip is wrong, his fingernails too close to the thread. He feels the edge of cold, thin metal press up under his fingernail, _up_ \--

Pain. Tingling up his arm, making him twitch helplessly. He loses his grip.

Fuck _everything._

Ben reaches again for sharp, thin metal.

Half a turn.

His heart, that panicked thing caught in the cage of his chest, is squeezing up his throat, choking him as much as the coffin walls. 

Slip. Metal digging into his fingers.

A quarter of a turn.

Distantly, Ben thinks he might hear sounds on the surface, the host dramatically taunting the passing minutes. Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, will he make it out alive? Ben’s breath hisses through his teeth shaking-sharp, like it’s trying to claw out of him, too. His heart and his lungs, fleeing the corpse of his body. 

A quarter of a turn.

Slip.

An eighth of a turn.

Ben feels himself going light headed from lack of oxygen. 

Slip.

How long will he be down here, airless, brain cells dying and shriveling up, before someone digs him up?

His gang was waiting for him on the surface. Will they realize? Was this a trap for them, luring them into a place where he couldn’t be there, couldn’t protect them? Is someone up there hurting them, right now?

An eight of a turn. Slip. A quarter turn. An eighth again. Slip.

This isn’t working. Over the cacophonous pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears, the echo of his own shaking breaths off the metal walls closing in on him, Ben can just barely hear himself think. What he thinks is, _this isn’t working._

A quarter turn. A half. Slip.

What happens, after he gets these top two nails pried up? He can’t reach the ones on the bottom. The chains won’t let him move the lid enough to snap it free. He won’t be able to squeeze himself out of such a tiny space.

An eight of a turn. Slip.

This isn’t working.

He finally catches his fingernail too hard, yelps as it gets ripped off, blood slipping over his fingers. No, damnit, _no_.

He scrambles for the pin. Can’t get it.

Slip. Slip. Slip.

His lungs ache for lack of air.

 _Mal_ , Ben thinks, childish and stupid. _Mal._


	8. Honest Pay For Honest Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben meets his new employer

** Seven Years Ago **

 

Ben only waited two days before going back out again. It was risky, he knew, leaving so often, and especially on one of the nights his parents might have decided to go out, too. He couldn’t wait any longer, though. After he’d gotten home and very carefully stacked his cans and jars in the storage room, Ben had gone to his bedroom and stuffed the bag in the back of his closet, and he hadn’t been able to sleep at all that night.

He had slept slightly better the next night, but only barely. His parents didn’t seem to have noticed the new addition to their food stores, so Ben must have done a good job of cramming things into cabinets and behind other containers, and that was kind of a relief. He’d been worried he might have to hide the food in his room instead, and only bring down cans one or two at a time. But even though his parents hadn’t noticed yet, there were a lot of other things for Ben to feel jittery and anxious about.

What if Mr. Horace couldn’t convince the man to give Ben a job? What if he did, and then Ben took too long to come back, and the man picked somebody else? What if Ben met the man and got the job and then did something wrong and got fired, which is what happens in books when bosses are mean or employees are unlucky.

Is that what Ben would be? An employee? He liked the way that sounded, all grown-up and important. Calling himself an employee would make it sound like he had a real job to do, and with any luck, he would.

Ben didn’t know what the job might be, but it didn’t really matter. He would do anything he had to, to help his parents. It was time to be a man. 

So, two days after Ben came sprinting back to the castle with the backpack, he snuck out again. This time he wasn’t holding Carlos’s hand, so he could hold the candle and the knife at the same time.

In the dark of the woods, Ben’s hands shook, and the candle flickered.

He had been worrying about this, too. What if the snake came back? What if Ben couldn’t fight it off? What if he finally found a way to help his parents, and then he got _eaten_ by a giant Rock Python?

… What would happen to his parents if he didn’t come home? Would they go looking for him? Would they get hurt, too?

Ben’s dad told him a few times that he thought too much. Ben thought maybe he was right.

Still. Ben couldn’t stop thinking.

So he tried to do what he always did when he was scared or stressed, and he recited poetry in his head. His dad read him poetry a lot. His mom liked stories better, but his dad liked poems, and Ben liked them both. Stories made him excited and want to go on adventures, but his dad’s poems made him feel quiet. They helped him make his hands stop shaking.

_Whose woods these are, I think I know_

_His house is in the village though_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow_

It wasn’t snowing in real life, even though it was snowing in the poem. _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_ was about somebody getting tired on their way home, Ben was pretty sure. Only they couldn’t stop and take a break because they had important stuff to do. They had promises to keep.

Ben had promises to keep.

They were only promises to himself, because he had to keep it a secret from his parents, but they were still promises. Ben couldn’t go home yet. 

_My little horse must think it queer_

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year_

Maybe if Ben was brave, he wouldn’t have wanted to. But he wasn’t brave, or strong. He wasn’t a hero. So he walked really slow down the path, and went even slower when he started to shake so bad he almost put his candle out. Every tree had hands to grab him, every branch or vine was a giant snake. Ben had a knife, but he didn’t really know what to do with it. It had been much, much easier to walk to the city when he had Carlos with him.

Ben had been creeping through these woods for almost a year. This was the first time he’d ever felt so alone in them.

He was so focused on his poems, and on his footsteps -- on putting one foot in front of the other and walking through the woods and not stopping, not turning back -- that he didn’t hear the snake come up behind him.

_He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake_

_The only other sounds the sweep_

_Of easy wind and downy flake_

Pythons are constrictors, which was the only thing that saved Ben’s life, because without venom the shake had to grab him before it could kill him.

It was lying very still, waiting for him. It’s tail looked like a log over the path. Ben went to step over it, and didn’t notice the diamonds and spots all down it’s back until the tail was curled up and Ben was falling down.

His knife and candle skittered off somewhere in the darkness, and the flame went out.

Ben screamed.

His hands and knees ached from landing hard on the cold ground. He was knocked breathless and dizzy for just a second. By the time that second was over the snake had wrapped it’s tail all around his legs and started to squeeze.

It didn’t talk. That was something Ben noticed, when he started thrashing to try and wiggle out of the crushing grip slowly working up his body. The snake talked last time, but this time it was quiet. Ben thought about the burning stick right in the snake’s lying mouth, and felt a tiny burst of triumph. 

It didn’t last long. The snake was coiling around him tight enough his legs were starting to ache and twinge, and it was around his belly now, squeezing his back and his spine and it hurt, and all Ben could think about was how constrictors killed their prey, crushing them to death and then swallowing them.

Ben thought about rats and mice and lizards, and larger prey like monkeys and antelopes. Ben thought about himself. He could feel the snake squeezing tighter every time he took a breath, just like it said in The Herpetologists Field Guide. The snake was going to squeeze the life right out of him, and Ben couldn’t breathe, Ben couldn’t _move_.

Rats and mice and lizards. Monkeys. Chimpanzees, Gorillas. Mandrills with their big, sharp fangs.

Ben could feel the smooth glide of cold scales against his cheek as the snake wrapped up his chest and head. Ben turned his face, opened up his mouth as wide as he could, and bit down.

It only made the snake squeeze tighter. Panic spiking, Ben dug his teeth in as hard as he could, until the scales went flaky and broken in his mouth and something cold and awful-tasting flowed down his chin. It ended up in his throat, choking him. Ben sputtered around his mouthful, and the snake made a pained sound and squeezed him even tighter.

Only, Ben had a mouthful of the snake’s tail. It couldn’t pull it’s coils in without moving that spot, and when it tried Ben latched on and didn’t let go.

The snake made another sound, and went loose again, then tight again. It was using it’s top half to wrap Ben up instead of it’s bottom half, so that it could still coil around him. Through the darkness, Ben could just barely see the Snake’s yellow eyes.

The snake’s head got closer. Closer. It’s flat snout brushed his cheek as it started to wrap around his neck.

Ben let go of it’s tail, whipped around as fast and as far as he could, and sunk his teeth right into that big yellow eye.

The snake

Screamed

The lashing of it’s body sent Ben tumbling out of its coils and right into a tree. His back ached and ached. Ben dug his fingernails into cold dirt and tried to breathe.

“You!” The snake hissed. Wheezing, Ben tried to push himself up. His legs felt like they were bruised all the way down to the bone, but even though it hurt worse than anything Ben had ever felt, he didn’t cry. He needed to get up. He needed to get out of the woods.

Stumbling to his feet, Ben ran blindly, groping for the trees in front of him. Something heavy swiped at his legs, sending him crashing to the ground again.

This time, the snake started with his head. Ben tried to bite it again, but it must have learned its lesson. It kept it’s face well away from his. Suddenly Ben’s mouth was covered, and his nose was being crushed against his face so hard it started bleeding. He clawed at the scaly body over his mouth, but he couldn’t pry it off as it worked it’s way around his neck.

There was something hard digging into Ben’s knee. When he moved his leg to kick out at the tail wrapping around him, it cut through Ben’s jeans and into his knee. He could barely feel the pain over how scared he was, but something about that stuck out to him.

The knife. The knife!

Blindly, Ben clawed at the dirt. The snake had him squeezed so tight Ben thought his head might pop. He couldn’t even get his jaw open to bite it again, but if Ben could get the knife, if he could just find the stupid knife --

There!

The blade cut his fingers when he dragged them over it, but Ben was too busy scrambling for the handle to notice. He got his hand around the hilt of the knife and dug it into the side of the snake covering his mouth. (Later, Ben would realize that almost stabbing himself in the face wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had.)

Like before, the snake squeezed tighter before it let go. Ben blindly dragged the knife all along any part of it he could reach until he could breathe again.

The snake was thrashing and hissing angrily. Ben lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, heaving for breath. His head hurt. His face, his back, his legs. His ribs felt like they were grinding together when he dragged in breath after breath.

He made sure he had a good grip on the knife before he stood up again, and though it was hard to see in the dark, the snake was thrashing and hissing, and Ben could just almost see the other yellow eye glaring at him.

Ben decided he was really sick of this snake, and it’s freaky eyes that almost made him fall asleep, and its big long tail that it used to try to crush him. So instead of running away again, Ben ran at the shape he could barely see, squirming in the darkness, and he jammed the knife right into that other yellow eye.

 

The lights of the city looked smokey and dimmer than usual when Ben finally stumbled his way through the tree line. He slumped against a trunk and decided he could… sit here for a minute. That was fine. He had his knife, and the city was right there, and he could kind of see Mr. Horace, even though he was all blurry like the lights. Ben was just gonna sit and catch his breath. Only Mr. Horace must have seen him, too, because as soon as Ben closed his eyes he heard “Ben, lad?” and he had to open them again.

Mr. Horace was coming over to him very quickly, with his big bushy eyebrows pulled down low over his gray eyes. Ben blinked up at him. “Cor,” Mr. Horace said, and bent down onto his knee so he was closer to Ben’s height. His hands found Ben’s face and very gently touched him. “What the hell happened, boy? C’mon, eyes on me, now. Can you tell me what happened?”

“... A snake tried to eat me,” Ben said. “I stabbed it.” He picked up his hand to show Mr. Horace the knife all covered in blood, and Mr. Horace looked at him kind of funny.

“... Aye, I can see that,” he said. “Snake? The big one with the” he raised his hands to his face and kind of wiggled them in front of his eyes.

Ben nodded.

“... Cor,” Mr. Horace said again. Then he took off his scarf and started wiping at Ben’s face and hands. He tried to take the knife away, and Ben tried to let him, but his fingers were all stiff and wooden and wouldn’t let go. Mr. Horace sighed and carefully pried his fingers up one by one. “C’mon, lad, you’re all hale. It’s alright, I won’t hurt ya. Let go now.”

When the knife was on the ground, Mr. Horace finished helping Ben clean up -- as much as he could, anyway. Ben was still sticky and bloody, but Mr. Horace gave Ben his scarf to pinch over his nose, so the bleeding would stop, and when it was done he wrapped up Ben’s knee with the same scarf and helped pull him to his feet. Ben swayed.

“... Right,” He said, quietly. “Let's get you out of the cold now. Come on.” Mr. Horace took Ben’s sticky hand and led him into the casino.

It was the first time he’d ever seen inside. The building was smokey and smelled weird, and there were people at tables all around the room playing games. Mr. Horace’s brother was at one of the tables. Ben recognized him by his big nose. 

He didn’t notice Mr. Horace walk by with Ben. Some of the people did, but most of them seemed kind… confused. They were loud and dizzy and drinking out of bottles. Ben had read about characters getting drunk before, but he’d never seen it in real life. 

Mr. Horace led him to the back of the building and then past a door with PISSER painted on it. Inside the door was a dirty bathroom with lots of sinks and toilets in neat boxes with curtains on them. 

“Up you get,” Mr. Horace said, and picked Ben up under the arms to sit him on the counter next to one of the sinks. He undid his scarf and rinsed the blood off of it before using it to finish scrubbing Ben’s hands and face.

By then his knee had stopped bleeding too, and Ben was feeling better. The world didn’t look so dizzy and far away anymore, so he took the scarf out of Mr. Horace’s hands and tried to get some of the blood out of his hair.

When Ben was as clean as he would get, Mr. Horace helped him off the counter, and they left the bathroom behind.

“Um,” Ben said, as they were walking down the hallway back to the casino. “I came out tonight to ask you about the job? I’m sorry for the trouble, I just --”

“No trouble at all, lad,” Mr. Horace reassured him. “The bloke I mentioned agreed to give you a shot. I told him it’d be a bit ‘til you could show, as I hadn’t figured you’d be back so soon, but if you’ve a want we can go and see him tonight.”

Ben nodded so hard he thought his head might fall off. Laughing, Mr. Horace put a hand on his shoulder and steered Ben out of the building. He paused to glance at his brother, but then he made an angry face and shook his head, and just kept walking. Ben didn’t know what that was about, and he didn’t want to ask.

Mr. Horace led Ben through the city, farther than he’d ever gone on his own. So far they couldn’t see the trees anymore, or the casino, or the big tower that Ben sometimes saw poking out over some of the buildings. It was a long and winding walk, and Ben felt himself get more and more nervous as they went. It felt like they might walk forever and never get to where they needed to go, but then Mr. Horace was putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder and turning him off the street and toward a building.

The place they were going was a big log cabin, with a deer head mounted over the door. Inside was lit up with a bunch of lamps all over the place, and people were sitting around and drinking and talking. It looked kind of like the casino, only a lot nicer and cleaner and it didn’t stink so bad. There were dead things all over the walls, and Ben wasn’t sure if he thought it was cool or creepy.

He thought about the snake, and wondered if it was dead, and if he should feel bad about that. It tried to eat him first, so maybe it was okay? But his mom and dad always said good guys weren’t supposed to hurt other people.

Before he could get too upset about that line of thought, Mr. Horace was leading him up to the counter and pulling out a chair for him. “Wait here, chid,” he said, quietly like he didn’t want other people to hear. “And mind yourself, I’ll be back.” Then he walked off and left Ben alone.

The man behind the counter frowned at him a little. Ben tried to smile nicely. “Hello,” He said, as politely as he could. 

That must have been the right thing to do, because the man raised an eyebrow at him and went back to wiping down the counter.

Ben twiddled his thumbs. Most of the dead things around the room were prey animals. Some deer, but mostly smaller things. Squirrels and rabbits and even chipmunks. There were a few birds, but not many. But there were bears, too, and wolves, and a lion. Ben had never seen any taxidermy before, but he’d read about it. It was really freaky in real life, but the longer he looked at it, the more Ben thought it was kind of cool. Hunters killed things all the time, to eat and to make clothes. It wasn’t bad when they did it.

… Maybe it was different when the animal could talk, though.

Ben stopped looking at the dead things on the walls, and went back to staring at his hands.

A minute later, Mr. Horace came back. He was walking with a man even shorter than him, with an even rounder head, although his nose was much smaller and his eyebrows were thin and neat. The man had long black hair and thick sideburns that wrapped around his chin, but he didn’t have a beard or mustache. Ben thought it looked kind of funny.

“Here he is,” Mr. Horace said, ushering Ben forward. Ben hopped off his barstool and self-consciously smoothed down his hair. He was very aware that his shirt still had blood all over it. “He’ll do you right, like I said.”

The man eyed Ben critically. Ben stuck out his hand a little too fast. “Hello, sir.”

Like with the man behind the bar, that must have been the right thing to do. The man with the sideburns reached out and shook Ben’s hand. Ben made sure to keep eye contact and to squeeze tight. His dad taught him a man should have a good, firm handshake.

“Good evening, Ben,” The man said. Ben wanted to ask how the man knew his name, but that would have been silly. Obviously Mr. Horace told him. “You’re earlier than I expected you to be.”

Ben swallowed. He glanced at Mr. Horace over the man’s shoulder, and Mr. Horace nodded at him encouragingly. “Yes, sir,” Ben said. “I didn’t want to wait too long in case you picked someone else. I thought it would be good to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“Punctual,” The man said. “Good. You’ll need to be on time for this.”

The man turned away and walked to the counter, tapping it twice. Wordlessly, the other man poured something into a glass and handed it to him. Ben glanced at Mr. Horace, then followed him. “On time, sir?”

“Of course,” The man said. “We hold ourselves to rigorous standards here, I expect you to carry out deliveries in a timely fashion.” 

Ben’s voice was very quiet when he said, “Deliveries?” 

When the man turned to look at him sharply, Ben realised what he’d said, and rushed to explain. “I just -- I’ve never been very far from my house before. This is the farthest I’m ever gone, so I might get lost at first, but --”

“If you can’t do it,” The man said, angry now. “Then don’t waste my time. Horace, what were you --”

“I can do it!” Ben said over him. “I’m a fast learner, I can figure it out. I can do it.”

The man turned to give Ben another sharp look. Ben met his eyes and didn’t look away. The panic of possibly messing this up -- of having come so far only to be turned away -- was eating at him, but Ben tried his hardest not to let it show. He needed to be confident, to convince the man that he was right for the job. He fisted his shaking hands in his shirt to keep them still.

Mr. Horace came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “He can do it,” He said. “Gave Kaa a run for his money on his way here tonight, he’ll keep your packages all in order, and he’s smart as a whip. Taught little Carlos to read all in one night.”

Neither of those things were really true, but Ben kept his mouth shut. If the man thought good things of him, maybe…

“You have one chance,” The man said. “One. As a favor to a friend,” The man shot Mr. Horace a look.

Ben nodded so hard he went dizzy. “Thank you,” He said, all in a rush. He was so grateful he could have hugged the man, but he didn’t think that was a good idea. Instead he reached forward and grabbed his hand to shake it again. “Thank you so, so much. I won’t let you down, Mr…” Oh, Ben didn’t know what his name was.

But the man seemed to like that Ben was polite. He shook his hand back, and even gave him a tiny little smile. He must not have been too angry that Ben didn’t know him.

The man said, “Lefou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the mammoth that was last chapter, this one feels so short and uneventful :( but on the other hand... consider it the final reprieve before shit gets real in both past and present.
> 
> This was also the first chapter where I ended up cutting out a scene that I absolutely adored, but that felt clunky and kind of pointless to the rest of the chapter. Given how long I'm expecting this fic to be, I'm sure there will be plenty more outtakes or even just random short offshoots within this 'verse, so be sure to check out the rest of the series!

**Author's Note:**

> For more Descendants stuff, check out my writing blog! http://thisisallthehattersfault.tumblr.com/


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